


Homecoming

by VampireBadger



Series: Visitorverse [9]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Everyone Lives Together, F/M, Haytham caaaaaaares, One Big Happy Family, Post-death shenanigans, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 80,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireBadger/pseuds/VampireBadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond never believed in his visitors when they were around. To him, they were just hallucinations, figments of his imagination brought on by the bleeding effect. It just didn't seem possible to really meet the ancestors he saw in the animus. And then he almost died to save the world, and they vanished.</p><p>It's been three years since then. Three years since he last saw Altair, Ezio, Edward, Haytham, Shay, Aveline, and Connor. Three years since he realized they'd been real all along. But this is not the story of how Desmond lost his visitors--it's the story of how he found them again. It's a story of family, old and new, of what happens when all the visitors come together in the same place and time.</p><p>This is a story of coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The morning starts well, for once. Desmond has gotten used to sleeping poorly—ever since he lost his arm, the pain of it wakes him up at least two or three times every night. It's a huge hassle, it takes forever to get back to sleep, and then his dad comes in at practically the crack of dawn anyway to wake him.

His father, for the record, says that 9:00 is not the crack of dawn, and that Desmond should try waking up at 4:30 like William does, if he ever wants to find out what 'the crack of dawn' actually means. Desmond, for his part, is absolutely positive that he will never take his father up on this offer.

This morning, Desmond wakes up with sunlight peeking in through the gaps in his window and the comfortable feeling that he isn't alone in his bed. He feels better rested than he has in months, and his head is too fuzzy from sleep to care who else is in bed with him. After all, he's always slept better when other people are around. This is nice.

But after a few minutes, he wakes enough to start wondering _why_ exactly someone is in bed with him, and flips over so he's not spooning whoever it is. Only it's been a while since he shared a bed with anyone, and he's certainly not used to doing it with a stump--he immediately bangs his arm against something, sending a jolt of pain rocketing up toward his shoulder, and Desmond shouts out in pain.

The someone in bed with Desmond wakes at once at the sound, and the next thing Desmond knows there's a blade in his face and after that everything is just chaos. The tussle ends with pillow fluff flying everywhere and Desmond on his back, good arm pinned helplessly under him, stump doing him absolutely no good as he strains forward with fingers he doesn't have anymore, trying to block a blade that's about to cut him open. He _hates_ this whole phantom limb thing, the claustrophobia of not being able to reach or grasp makes him panic, and-

"Hang on," a familiar voice says, just seconds before Desmond would have been filleted. "Desmond?"

He blinks, breathing deeply to try and calm down. Because this isn't possible, it's not, but… "Edward?"

It _is_ Edward, and Desmond supposes he should have known that as soon as he woke up with someone else in bed with him. Edward has never had much patience for personal boundaries.

"Argh!" Edward rolls over and flops onto his back next to Desmond. "Scoot over, this bed is tiny."

Desmond obligingly inches across the bed so he's as close as he can get to the edge without falling off. He turns his head toward Edward, and comes face to face with Edward looking back at him. Their faces are barely six inches away, and Desmond wonders vaguely if they’re about to kiss again. But he isn’t bleeding anymore, he’d recovered from that three years ago on the day he almost died. He’s never kissed Edward when he’s fully himself, and he’s not sure he wants to. Which of course means absolutely nothing, because if Edward really wants to make out with him, he will.

"So," Edward says. "This is what it's like to be dead."

"Are you dead?" Desmond asks, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Edward doesn't look any older than Desmond himself is, far too young to have fathered Haytham, much less actually died. He’s maybe… twenty five, thirty? Pirating age, the time time in his life Desmond always thinks of when he thinks of Edward.

"I mean, I guess." Edward shrugs. "You're dead, and the last thing I remember is Haytham waking me up to tell me the house was being attacked, and we all know how that turns out." Desmond frowns--so this _is_ an older Edward? And he just looks younger?

Edward shrugs, then looks thoughtful. "You know, I wonder--if Jenny hadn't told me I was going to die that night, do you think I would have? I might have fought harder, or done something differently. So maybe if I hadn't known I was going to die, I wouldn't have."

"Edward," Desmond interrupts. "Not to stop you while you're waxing philosophical, or whatever, but first of all I'm not dead."

"You're not?"

"No!" he waves his stump. "The thing just took my arm, it didn't kill me."

"So then why am I here, if I'm dead and you're not?"

Desmond shrugs. "Maybe you're not dead. How old are you, Edward?"

"Forty two."

"Yea?" Desmond reaches over with his good arm and pokes at Edward. He feels as solid as he ever had while visiting, and Desmond wonders what the rules are for ghosts. "You don't even look like you're thirty yet."

"Huh." Edward pulls off his shirt. ("God, Edward," Desmond protests. "You had to go and make this weird.") "Look at that." And they both lie in bed and stare at the clean, short scar in the middle of Edward's chest. Desmond cautiously reaches out to touch it, and feels fresh scar tissue as well as dried up blood under his fingers.

"So you did get killed?" he asks.

"Sure looks like a sword went through me," Edward agrees. He wraps the fingers of one hand around the other wrist. "Pulse," he reports.

"And you're breathing."

"So." Edward pulls his shirt back on, much to Desmond's relief, and resettles on his side of the bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. "I got stabbed to death, but instead of actually dying, I came to visit you in the future where both of us are still alive. And I lost about fifteen, twenty years."

"Fifteen," Desmond says. "You're not quite that young."

He settles back so he's also watching the ceiling; it's marginally more comfortable that way, and it's not like he has to see Edward's expression to know his ancestor is making a face at him. "Are you sure you're visiting?" Desmond asks. "I mean, not that I would complain if you were, I'm just really happy to see you at all, but it usually feels different."

"Add it to the list of questions," Edward says. "Along with 'why am I alive,' 'why are you alive,' and 'why am I suddenly your age?'"

"I also have a question." And Desmond literally falls off his side of the bed at the sound of the unexpected voice.

"Dad!" he gasps, scrambling back to his feet. "How long have you been here?"

But William ignores him, arms crossed over his chest as he glares straight at Edward. "And my question is: what the fuck is going on?"

"Okay," Edward mutters as he also stands up. "Maybe this isn't a visit after all."

Desmond tries again. “How long--”

“Since I came to see if you were up yet and found you spooning another man in your sleep!” William snaps. “I’ve been sitting here for half an hour, trying to figure out what you think you’re _doing_. And then you finally wake up, and I have no idea what I just witnessed but I would like an explanation. Now.” Desmond flinches away from the anger, and then rallies a little when he feels Edward’s hand on his back.

"You can see him," he says, pointing between his father and Edward. "That shouldn't be possible."

"Why is there a dead pirate in your bed?" William practically shouts at Desmond.

"Um…" Desmond shoots a sideways glance at Edward, who mostly just looks like he wishes he was still invisible, which is absolutely no help at all. "That's kind of what we were trying to figure out." He mouths 'say something' at Edward, who shrugs and then looks over at William.

"Technically I'm not dead," he says. "We think. Probably."

"That's not what I meant," Desmond hisses at him. "I meant something that will make everything make more sense, not less!"

"But I have no idea what's going on either!"

"Just say something!"

Edward looks back at William, whose eyebrows are climbing so high up his face they seem to be in danger of flying away altogether. "I am also not technically a pirate," he says. "Anymore." He hesitates. "I mean, I'm not actually sure if 'piracy' is a thing that just kind of sticks to you for the rest of your life, but I did actually get pardoned, if that makes a difference. So… probably not a pirate. Anymore. Definitely not legally."

"There's probably a statute of limitation too," Desmond adds.

"Oh, yea," Edward agrees. "Probably. And I haven't done anything wrong in like… five hundred years."

"Three hundred," Desmond corrects.

"Eh." Edward waves one hand dismissively. "Maths was never my strong suit."

And then they look at each other, and suddenly they're both giggling like fools. Desmond sits back down on the bed when it feels like his legs are about to give out, and feels the mattress dip as Edward collapses next to him. "I have no idea what's going on," Desmond says happily. "But I am so glad you're back."

Edward reaches over and suddenly they're hugging and laughing and crying, and none of William's increasingly confused protests are enough to ruin this moment. "Don't leave," Desmond begs, when William gives up in disgust and goes to wake Rebecca and Shaun, possibly just because he feels like he needs backup. "Please, Edward, don't leave. It's been awful without any visitors."

"Like you said earlier," Edward says. "This doesn't feel like a visit--I think I'm really here, and I don't think I'm leaving any time soon."

Which makes Desmond break down crying again. "Thank God," he says, as Edward smiles understandingly and pats him on the back. "Thank God, thank God, thank God…"

It takes Desmond a while to get himself back under control, but eventually he manages it. He and Edward settle more comfortably on the bed to wait, on top of the blanket Desmond had sort of accidentally stolen from Connor years ago. Desmond can hear raised voices from somewhere else in the safe house, and figures it will probably be a while before anyone comes back in the room to check on them. "Hey," he says at last. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Fine," Edward says. "Not dead, so… fine."

"You're not dead," Desmond agrees. "But I think you must have died, right? I mean, you have the scar--" And he watches Edward's hand go self-consciously to his chest. "And I know what it feels like to… to die, and just not have it stick. It's not fun. So I'm glad you're here, but if you want to talk about it, or anything, I don't think anyone else would really understand."

"I…" Edward fiddles a little with the hidden blades he's still wearing. "Yea. I would like to talk."

But he doesn't. Desmond waits the silence out patiently, knowing that Edward won't be able to stay quiet for long.

"I remember the sword," Edward bursts out after less than a minute. "I remember watching it slide in. It didn't feel like anything, that was the worst part. Because I just watched it, and I thought no, that's not right, that's not how things work…" he laughs without humor. "I thought, the human body can't survive injuries like that… and then it all kind of clicked, and all I could think about was how Haytham was going to have to see me like that."

"I'm sorry."

"He was there," Edward goes on. "The older Haytham. He came to visit, and woke me up for the attack. And then Haytham… the little Haytham, my baby…" Desmond aches to say something, but he is not a father and he can't even imagine what Edward must be feeling at this moment. Dying, he can relate to. But not this. "I knew he must have learned to kill at some point. We both know what kind of man he grew up to be. But I didn’t want to see it start…”

"He'll be okay though," Desmond says. "He grew up strong."

"He grew up alone," Edward says. "And hard, and…" He wraps his hand around Desmond's good arm, squeezing tight. "Desmond, do you think he'll make it here, someday? After he dies, maybe? Because after seeing that, I would really like to talk to him again, and apologize, and just… there are so many things I never said, and it's stupid because I knew the day I would die and it still seemed like I had so much time."

Desmond has no idea what the future is going to hold, he doesn't understand the rules of this new type of visiting at all. But he nods because Edward looks absolutely miserable. "Yea," he says. "Who cares about stupid things like time? I'm sure you'll see Haytham again."

William chooses that moment to reappear in the bedroom doorway, looking tense and upset as he always does when he's confused. "You two," he says, pointing at Desmond and Edward. "Come on. We all need to have a conversation."

"Shit," Desmond grumbles, after William is gone and he's helping Edward off the bed. "He sounds pissed." He heaves a sigh and starts to follow his father. He can't quite help wishing his dad cared about him the same way Edward cares for Haytham.

"Hey--" Edward squeezes Desmond's shoulder, and tries to smile. "He cares, okay? He cares. It’s in the rules."

"Quit reading my mind," Desmond grumbles, but then they start walking again, together, leaning on one another for support. It's not perfect-- Edward has just _died_ , after all, this reunion was never going to be completely happy.

But it's good.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward's chest hurts like he's just been stabbed, which makes sense because he has. It sort of itches, and Edward keeps rubbing at it awkwardly. It sort of makes sense that Desmond is still alive, because precursor artifacts are absolutely ridiculous and make no sense. But Edward had been killed by a regular sword, plain old human steel, and there's no reason he should be here now.

He should be a rotting corpse six feet down. Maybe he is? Maybe—

"Stop touching your chest," Desmond hisses at him. "It's creepy."

"It feels weird," Edward whispers back, grateful for the distraction. "I need to bathe, there's blood drying into awkward places." He brightens a little. "Can I shower?”

Desmond shrugs, and gives Edward a suspicious look like he’s not really sure what’s coming, but he doesn’t think he’s going to like it. “I suppose,” he says cautiously.

“I’m just thinking,” Edward goes on. “That obviously it won’t be as good as that time we showered together, but it’s still better than a bath--”

"Shut up, Edward," Desmond mutters, and Edward realizes he's missed the exact shade of red that Desmond's face turns when he's embarrassed. “That shower was _ages_ ago, and it was only because you showed up on a visit while I was in there.”

Edward, of course, does not shut up. He's never been very good at that. "So… you’re saying you didn’t actually want to shower with me?” He grins. “Desmond, you wound me!”

"Edward—"

"We only got to try the shower thing once," Edward points out, still whispering. "Which is actually kind of surprising, since the entire universe seems to want you to be in as many terrible situations as possible."

"Right." Desmond is staring at the floor instead of Edward. "Like this one right now, where my dad and my friends are listening to you talk about that one time we accidentally took a shower together."

Edward looks away from Desmond and across the table to where William, Shaun, and Rebecca are all sitting. None of them has said a thing since William told Desmond and Edward to sit down in the room’s two empty chairs, and that had been over five minutes ago.

He briefly weighs the merits of going quiet against how much fun it would be to see how red Desmond's face can get. It is not a difficult decision, and Edward grins. "You seemed pretty excited about the shower at the time," he says.

And Desmond turns in his seat to look directly at Edward. "Because you told me it was coming!" he says, and he's not trying to whisper anymore. He's suddenly animated, and Edward almost thinks he's angry before he sees that Desmond is smiling too. Just the barest hint of it, along the corners of his mouth. How many times have they argued this, on visits before Desmond (didn't) die? Over and over again because it's still funny to watch Desmond's face turn into a tomato at the slightest provocation. There's so much familiar normalcy to the argument that he can almost forget all the weird stuff that's happened already today.

"Come on," Edward sighs, with far more dramatic flair than the situation really deserves. "I didn't know the shower thing hadn't happened for you yet when we started sleeping together!"

"Don't say it like that!" And Desmond is so red now that Edward wants to start laughing. "And by the way, you are the worst time traveler ever, okay?"

"Am not!"

"You should have 'spoiler warning' tattooed across your forehead!" Desmond insists, gesturing emphatically to his own head. "How many times did you almost mess things up for Shay and Aveline before they got together?" Desmond demands. "Because you couldn't be bothered to check what point of the timeline they were on?"

"I don't know, I stopped counting."

“They should have given you a codeword.”

“Nah,” Edward says dismissively. “I would never have remembered to use it.”

"Okay seriously," Shaun says abruptly. "That's enough." Desmond tries to interrupt, but Shaun points at him and uses his serious eyebrows. "Out of both of you."

"Sorry."

" _Not_ sorry," Edward says cheerfully.

"Of course you're not," Desmond mutters under his breath.

William bangs his hand against the table and everyone else turns to look at him. "Everybody shut up," he growls. "Right now. I want an explanation." Edward opens his mouth to say something, but William shakes his head. "Desmond," he says. "I want it from you."

"Edward's a visitor," Desmond says at once. Then there's a pause while Desmond makes several false starts in trying to explain. William looks like he's close to losing his temper, which only makes Desmond's attempts to talk _quieter_ , not any more helpful.

Edward kicks him under the table and Desmond kicks back. Then he takes a deep breath and manages to get a full sentence out. "I've been visiting my whole life," he says. And then the next sentence seems to come more easily, and in his whole explanation after that he doesn't even hesitate. "There are eight of us, and sometimes we just show up in each other's lives. No one else can see or hear them, which is why you guys didn't know anything about Edward before today. Even though he's been around for ages, ever since…" he grins a little, turning again to Edward. "Do you remember that summer with the dinosaurs?"

Edward nods, and Desmond's smile grows almost large enough to rival that of the little boy that had been so eager to tell him about dinosaurs.

He still doesn't know what dinosaurs are. Maybe he'll finally have a chance to find out.

Desmond turns back to his father, and Edward notices the way his smile instantly droops. "So… they were all around when I was a kid. Then the visits stopped for a while, and I kind of forgot about it until later. I started meeting everyone again after Abstergo first kidnapped me, and it all just kind of snowballed after that. Until I almost died, back in the temple. Then it stopped."

"Who were the other visitors?" Rebecca asks. While Shaun looks skeptical and William looks almost aggressively disbelieving, Rebecca looks like she's almost falling over herself to find out more.

"Altair," Desmond says. "Ezio." He flinches and stops speaking as his father scoffs.

Edward takes up the explanation. "Haytham," he says. "Connor. Shay and Aveline."

William shakes his head and stands abruptly—leaves without another word. For a second, it almost looks like Shaun is going to follow, but then he reconsiders and stays where he is.

Rebecca leans forward eagerly. "You know," she says. "This actually kind of explains a lot. All those glitches in the animus when we thought character models weren't loading?"

"That was us," Edward says proudly.

"Hang on—" And Shaun's face suddenly looks pale as a ghost's. "So if this is all real, that means—that memory, when Haytham and Connor met for the first time, and Haytham carved that message to _me_ …"

"Wait," Edward interrupts. "What was the message?"

"Told him to mind his own business," Rebecca says, and she does a good job of not laughing until she looks over and sees the expression of dumbfounded amazement on Shaun's face.

And then when she starts laughing, so does Desmond. When Edward joins in and Shaun actually smiles, the tension in the room seems to fade away completely. "I can't believe you didn't tell us," Shaun grumbles.

"Neither can I," Edward agrees. "Most of the rest of us have told people, but Desmond doesn't believe we're real."

"I do now," Desmond grumbles. "Obviously."

"About time."

"Okay, great," Shaun says loudly. "But I'm just going to interrupt before the two of you start talking to each other and forget we exist again. I still have questions."

"Shoot," says Desmond.

"How does it work?" Shaun asks. "This visiting thing? Did it happen regularly, or at random? Were you more likely to visit some people than others?"

Edward looks at Desmond, and they sort of make confused noises at each other while they try to figure out how to explain things. Then Desmond looks back at Shaun. "Maybe we can write it down?" he suggests. "It'd be easier to figure it out, I think?"

Shaun nods, and produces a notebook from somewhere, sliding it across the table toward the other two. Desmond flips through it until he finds a blank page, and sets it out between himself and Edward. "I'm doing the writing," he announces. "I've seen your handwriting, it's horrible."

They start squabbling (the poor notebook gets a little bit battered), but soon fall into a comfortable enough way of working. William calls for Shaun and Rebecca sometime around rule number three, and they leave quickly. The list starts pretty well.

 

> 1\. Visitors can only be seen by other visitors  
>  2\. Visitors can understand the language(s) of people they are visiting

 

Rule three is when Desmond makes the mistake of giving Edward the pen, and Edward decides it would be much more entertaining to start tormenting Desmond than to just keep working on the list.

 

> 3\. Visitors must hug at every opportunity

 

"That's not a rule," Desmond interrupts. He steals the pen back and crosses out rule number three. "Come on, Edward, this is supposed to be serious."

"Yes," Edward says. "And have you met us? We seriously hug a lot." Because they do, actually—considering that every one of them is a trained killer, they spend a ridiculous amount of time hugging. It's one of Edward's favorite parts of visiting, actually, has been since almost the beginning. It has the advantage of being really helpful when life (as it so often does) turns to shit, and also being extremely obnoxious to most of the others.

"My dad's going to read this," Desmond grumbles, but he doesn't protest when Edward puts one arm around Desmond's shoulder, and scrawls rule three back onto the page with his other hand. If anything, he seems to appreciate the gesture.

"Told you," Edward says.

"Shut up."

Rule three stays.

 

> 4\. Visitors can enter the bodies of the person they're visiting. Usually the original person gets kicked out.

 

"Shouldn't it be always?" Desmond asks. "I mean, if you were visiting me, and you stole my body, I would get stuck watching you from outside my body. Right?"

"Usually," Edward agrees. "But not always. I know Shay and Aveline were sort of sharing a body for a while when Shay gave birth to Jeanne.”

Desmond stares at him. “You mean when _Aveline_ gave birth to Jeanne.”

“No,” Edward says cheerfully. “Shay definitely did most of the birthing.”

Desmond doesn't push any farther, and they go back to the rules.

 

> 4\. Visitors can enter the bodies of the person they're visiting. Usually the second person gets kicked out.  
>      a. It is possible to forcibly take back control if you really need to, but it's not easy  
>      b. The visitor taking over is affected by anything being suffered by the one being taken over (hypothermia, blood loss, concussion, measles…) but is usually better able to cope  
>  5\. Visits do not have to happen in order (so an older visitor could visit someone much earlier in their timeline)  
>      a. It's still not _completely_ random; when you visit someone, it's quite likely to be the meeting following your last one from their perspective as well  
>  6\. When a visit ends, the visitor will be dropped back in their own time at the moment they 'left'; they may look briefly distracted  
>      a.They also have to be careful to remember what they were doing  
>          i.Which is why Ezio keeps falling off buildings

 

"Ezio falling off buildings is not a rule," Desmond objects. "It's just you making fun of him."

"Why do you complain so much?" Edward asks. "If you didn't want me to write things, you shouldn't have given me the pen."

"Then give it back," Desmond says. "I have one to add."

 

> 7\. Visits to other universes are possible when using an Apple of Eden

 

"Wait," Edward says, immediately pulling the pen away again. "Are you talking about that time Connor got stuck in that weird other world where he was a wolf-bird-bear or something?"

"Yes."

"How did you even know about that?"

Desmond shrugs. "I got to see him while he was there. It's one of the only visits I've been able to make since…" he sort of waves around what's left of his missing arm.

"You've visited since then?" Edward demands.

"Only like… three times. And once was with Aveline and Shay and… Shay." His face goes so red it looks like it's about to come back around the other side and just lose all color completely. It does give Edward an idea for the next rule, though.

 

> 8\. The universe is designed to cause Desmond suffering, and the rules of visitation are no different  
>      a.If Desmond can drop in on his ancestors having sex, at some point he almost certainly will  
>          i. Desmond is so used to seeing sex that he interprets any awkward-looking situation as sexual unless specifically corrected

Almost all of rule eight is completely illegible, because of the fact that Desmond starts fighting Edward over the pen. They're on the ground wrestling for it when Shaun appears in the doorway, coughs loudly, says, "For the love of God, you're both grown men," and backs out again when they calm down and get back to work.

Desmond makes a face at Edward and snatches the pen away. Edward pats himself on the back for being the bigger man and not arguing the point.

 

> 9\. Nobody can control when or who they visit, but Aveline can sort of leave when she wants to or extend her stay  
>  a. Which is really annoying because she won't tell anyone else how she does it  
>  10.Visitors cannot change the future, but the future can be impacted by them  
>  11\. Visitors can meet themselves (although they might not actually visit themselves).  
>  12\. When all the visitors gather together at once, it tends to be just before the visitee's death, or at a time when they need a lot of emotional support

 

They both sort of stare at rule twelve, and then Edward sighs. The word _death_ has reminded him of last night, and suddenly his chest hurts again. "I think I'm in need of a lot of emotional support right now," he says glumly. He keeps thinking of Haytham.

Desmond nods, and they inch a little bit closer to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This list of rules is a much paraphrased version of the rules we use while writing Visitorverse. Other gems include 'Kenways must always be tragically feels-punching' and 'Everything is always 10x more adorable with kids'


	3. Chapter 3

Edward stinks, and so Desmond wrangles him into the bathroom once they're done with the rules. He can actually see the words crawling up on Edward's face, and knows that Edward has absolutely no self-control. "No," he says firmly, before Edward can actually speak. "I will not shower with you."

"I don't know how to work the shower," Edward says.

"And I'll teach you later," Desmond promises. "But lucky for you, there's a bathtub in here, and you can't tell me you don't know how one of those works."

"You're a killjoy."

"You know my dad probably thinks we're dating or something," Desmond complains. "You could lay off the shower jokes for a while, that would probably help."

"It's just for fun," Edward says, which is exactly what Desmond is worried about, actually. "Does he know who I am, by the way? He called me a dead pirate this morning."

"Abstergo's been going through your memories—"

"Ew."

"And dad got hold of the footage," Desmond continues. "So he knows who you are. Sort of, anyway." He hesitates, considering. "I don't think he's put you together with Haytham and Connor yet, though. He doesn't really pay much attention to the details, if it’s not directly helping him get what he wants. Rebecca always says he never watched my animus sessions. Just worked on his own thing, sometimes came by to ask if we were done yet."

Edward gives him a Look that Desmond doesn't much like. He knows most of his visitors don't really like his dad, and honestly Desmond has a hard time getting along with the man himself. There are times when the actual human being in him can shine through, but more often than not, William lets his role as a mentor overwhelm everything else in his life.

It's hard. Life is hard. Desmond does his best to ignore it, but there are still times when he wants nothing so much as he wants a real father. Someone that can take care of him. Care _about_ him. He catches himself frowning, and looks almost guiltily at Edward.

"I can manage to bathe alone," Edward says quietly, and Desmond tries to smile because obviously his thoughts are showing too clearly on his face. After all, if even _Edward_ has noticed, it must be extremely obvious.

"Thanks," he says. His voice sounds brittle with forced cheerfulness, and he ducks out of the bathroom before Edward can change his mind or ask questions.

Downstairs, he bumps into Rebecca pulling on a coat and hunting for shoes. There's a mildly concerned expression on her face that Desmond doesn't really like. "Hey," he says, catching her attention. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You _look_ like something's wrong."

"It's really nothing," she assures him. "Shaun just got a flat tire and I have to go rescue him." Her voice is ever so slightly annoyed, but there's a fondness on her face that's far stronger. Desmond is just about to sort of awkwardly ask how that's going (he's been wondering, ever since that time Ezio sort of hinted that Shaun/Rebecca/Lucy was a thing, back before Lucy died. He'd told Desmond the three of them are sleeping together, and Desmond has... he's always sort of wondered, even after sleeping with Lucy himself. Was that just Ezio being Ezio, or was it really happening? And if so, are Shaun and Rebecca still..?) But before he can, Rebecca raises her eyebrows and points upstairs.

"So," she says. "Edward's in the shower?"

"Bath."

"Alone?"

And Desmond groans, because of course it's not bad enough that Edward's going to tease him about that shower thing, clearly his friends have to as well. And Edward being Edward, it's only a matter of time until everyone finds out that the two of them have kissed--that's going to be awful. "It's not like that!" he protests. "Edward was visiting that one time we showered together, I didn't exactly get a say. Now he's _not_ visiting, and I am choosing to stay as far away as possible from him while he doesn't have clothes on."

Rebecca nods, and luckily she takes the hint and the teasing ends there (for now), and her face goes serious. "So why _is_ he here?" she asks. "I'm really confused about that. He is dead, isn't he?"

"I don't know," Desmond admits. "There used to be rules—"

Rebecca's mouth twitches upward into a smile. "I know," she says. "I've read your rules. I thought they were very helpful. Mostly, I mean. And Edward's been very, ah, helpful in explaining why rule eight is a thing."

Desmond sighs. He doesn't like rule eight. "It's not fair," he complains. "Everyone always made fun of me because I kept visiting people while they were… you know. Busy. With each other. But it's not like it was something I did on purpose!"

Rebecca smiles at him and shakes her head. "I don't know about any of your other visitors," she says. "But it sure seems like Edward only keeps bringing it up because it so obviously bothers you."

"Yea, well." And now it's Desmond's turn to smile. Because as much as he hates the mockery, he'd rather have it than have Edward gone again. He changes the subject back to his earlier point. "Like I was saying, there used to be rules. We didn't know when or where we would visit, but we knew what the rules were when we were there. You know? And now Edward's just… here. And he's probably not dead, and it doesn't make any sense…"

"But?" Rebecca prompts.

"How did you know there was a but?"

"You sound like there's going to be a but. There’s always a but. So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking…" He can't help the way his words feel like they're being dragged out of him with agonizing slowness. It’s been three years, but this is the first time he's talked to anyone about the day that he was supposed to die. "When I touched that _thing_ in the temple, everyone was there."

"Rule twelve," Rebecca says. "Something about all of you being there when one of you dies?"

"Yea. I think I kind of knew, even if I wouldn't admit it to myself, that I was going to die. I'd already seen so many of our deaths by then. Ezio. Connor. Aveline. Shay. Haytham didn't want anyone there when Connor killed him, and I don't think anyone was there when Edward died. I didn't see Altair's death until later. But I'd seen _enough_ to realize what was happening when they all showed up. I knew that most of the time, if all of us were together like that, someone was about to die.

"I was scared. That was the first time I really wanted them all there, real or not. And when I actually touched that thing, I felt all of them there. In my head." What's left of his arm aches, and Desmond rubs at it with such unhappy intensity that it actually starts to hurt more. "They were saving me. Every time they were near a piece of Eden, a part of them was with me, saving me. Maybe that went both ways. Maybe they were all saving each other."

Rebecca squeezes his shoulder. "Maybe it's just better not to ask," she says. "Accept what you have. It's a good thing to have friends around you, whatever Bill says."

Desmond's gut suddenly clenches tightly. "What's dad been saying, exactly?"

"Oh." Her face falls, clearly surprised that he hasn't heard already. "Never mind. Most of it's not nice."

"Big surprise," Desmond mutters.

"Try not to worry," Rebecca says. "Not now, anyway. He'll be away from here for a while anyway, no point letting the things he says get to you."

Desmond stares at her. "He _left_?" And he isn't sure why he's surprised not to have known already, but somehow he is anyway. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

"Sorry."

"It's fine," Desmond mutters. "You should go rescue Shaun."

She lingers for a few moments, then nods and leaves in silence.

Desmond is quiet for a while after that, quiet and still. But eventually his feet turn and carry him back upstairs, to his father's room. He's not entirely sure what he expects to see, but it is not… it’s not…

He stops, feet practically glued to the carpet, staring in frozen silence. He had not been expecting _this_. Haytham. On the floor, back to the wall, curled up with his arms around his legs and head buried in his knees. He almost looks like he's been crying, which is as much a surprise to Desmond as his presence there at all.

He should say something. Do something. But his heart is beating a mile a minute, his mouth is dry, and there's a flood of emotions coursing through him.

Father, he thinks. Father is here, everything is going to be alright—

Only he shouldn't be thinking that, he's better now, the bleeding effect is gone. He can think of Ziio, of Sofia, Maria, each of his ancestors’ lovers without feeling that love himself. Their emotions were burned out of him the day he almost died, so why is this one still here? Haytham is not his father, and Desmond should not want him to be.

_So why does he?_

Slowly, without Haytham noticing, Desmond backs out of the room. As soon as he's safely out of sight, he turns and bolts down the hall to his own room, throwing himself onto the bed and burying his face in his pillow. It's stupid and childish, certainly, this hiding. But Desmond is afraid. Maybe this is the first sign of the bleeding effect coming back. Or maybe (the thought is like a tight fist around his heart, a sudden, sharp, and painful fear) it isn't. Maybe it's just the first he's noticed, maybe Edward isn't really here at all, maybe Desmond is just hallucinating him, and his hallucinations have gotten bad enough that he's starting to imagine other people reacting to them. His heart hammers in his chest and he is afraid, afraid, afraid…

Slowly, he becomes aware that his hand is clutching something tightly, something soft and slightly dirty, and he pulls his face out of the pillow to see what that something is—when he sees it, he sits up (slowly) and smiles. His old (ancient, now, and dirty from being buried underground for hundreds of years) lion is a familiar sight, and something in Desmond's mind whispers _be brave_ when he looks at it.

He sits up and pulls the lion into his lap, running his fingers against the coarsely sewn letter H on its back. He doesn't remember grabbing the stuffed animal on his way into the room, but he's not actually surprised, either. It always made him feel better when he was a kid, and since getting it back from the homestead, Desmond has taken to sleeping with it pressed against his chest at night. He hasn't told anyone else, of course. Bad enough that he knows how weak and immature he is, but Shaun would never let him live it down. His father might try to burn the lion again.

He remembers the day he first met Haytham, sort of. Desmond had been terrified of him at the beginning, because he'd been three but he'd also been born to be an assassin. He'd already known what death was, and the man in front of him was a killer.

A killer who cared, a killer who talked to him like he was someone important, a killer who had been far kinder than literally anyone else Desmond had ever met at that point in his life. He had never been held the way Haytham held him (hadn't been held at all since he learned to crawl, as his father was so fond of reminding him—assassins walked on their own two feet, they didn't slow others down). He had never had anyone look at him the way Haytham did (like he was someone that deserved to be looked at, and paid attention to, even if he was just a useless kid).

Desmond follows the chain of his reminiscences as it spreads out from there. He's been working on reclaiming his memories during the past couple of years, digging up the old memories of visiting that he'd buried along with the rest of his childhood on the day he ran away. He remembers giving the lion to Haytham, and the feeling of being held and hugged that lingered long after the visitation ended. He remembers being seven and going to the birthday party of another boy that had been so excited to see him. He remembers whispered words of pride Haytham hadn't thought he'd hear, on the drive to the homestead on the twentieth of December.

And slowly, as these memories trickle through Desmond's mind, he realizes that he'd gotten it wrong. This isn't the bleeding effect coming back, because _this is how he really feels._ Sure, maybe it had started with Connor. The first time Desmond had called Haytham _dad_ , he'd also called Ziio _mom_ , and that had to have been Connor. But over time…

Desmond has half a dozen memories of Haytham-as-a-father that sit like precious treasures in his mind, and he gathers them carefully together into something strong and lasting, a _conviction_ that he can only just now bring himself to believe. Because when he thinks of Haytham, of _father_ , the memories that come to him are his own. Not Connor's. Because Haytham may not be his biological dad, but he's always acted more like one than William Miles. And Desmond wants that.

He isn't sure if Haytham does as well, but he has to find out. He has to say something, now, before he loses his nerve. So he stands, slowly, still holding the lion, and walks out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Edward finishes in the bath and dresses in the clothes Desmond has left out for him. It's odd, the way the modern fabric rests against his skin, and he isn't entirely sure he likes it. At least these clothes, a plain T-shirt and jeans, are easier to wear than possibly anything Edward has ever owned in his life. They're a little rumpled but clean, and Edward thinks they're probably Desmond's. They smell like him, which is a weird thing to notice, but quite frankly, Edward has spent more than his fair share of nights asleep with his face mashed up against Desmond. He knows what the man smells like by now.

He spends several minutes thinking about this, trying to decide if it's weird that he can recognize another fully grown man by smelling them. Then he decides he doesn't much care, and lets his mind move on to other things. Such as, for example, the fact that this is the twenty first century. Really there, not just visiting Desmond—this is crazy. Really, truly, and absolutely crazy.

Edward decides that's pretty cool. He's a fan of crazy.

But where is he supposed to go? What is he supposed to do? There are assassins in this time, obviously. But they don't really remind Edward of the assassins from his time. Maybe he won't fit in with them. Maybe he doesn't want to? Maybe he does. Maybe it's just too early to be making decisions like this. One day at a time, for now.

Still, it's a pity there are no ships in this time the way there had been in Edward's. He's missed the sea since he first gave up the Jackdaw.

Edward hangs around for a while, in case Desmond's planning on coming back, but then gets distracted by the idea of food. It's been a couple centuries since he last ate, and although he doesn't think he's ever seen Desmond eat anything that didn't look disgusting, Edward is the kind of man that will try anything once. Or more than once, if he's really hungry.

He goes looking for a kitchen, and comes across… something else.

Edward is walking past a row of bedrooms when he stops abruptly, looking into one in the middle. The others had all been empty, but this one is occupied, and Edward knows the occupant. Well. Better than almost anyone. He sucks in a breath, feeling like he's drowning, and takes several steps inside. "Haytham," he says. "Haytham…"

Haytham makes a noise of such pitiable sadness that it almost tears Edward's heart into pieces. He's known Haytham a very long time, in various stages of his life, but he has only ever heard him make this noise in childhood. Edward kneels next to Haytham, hesitates, then sits down at his side, putting his arm over his son's shoulders and pulling him toward himself.

"Shh," he whispers.

"Dad…"

"You're not dead," Edward says, trying and failing to think up a good reply. "And neither is Desmond. We're here with him."

"Does it matter?" Haytham asks. "Even if I'm not dead, my son still killed me."

"And grew to regret it," Edward says. He knows that's true, at least. He's seen a much older Connor, in some of his visits. Seen him with Haytham, even, full of regret for what he'd done.

Haytham doesn't answer. His hand, which has been pressed up against the side of his neck since the moment Edward walks in, tightens a little. Edward frowns and shakes his head, pulling Haytham's hand away. "Let me see."

"No—"

"Let me see."

Haytham gives in and lets his hands drop at last, almost limp, to the ground. Edward winces at the sight of what they had been covering, at the sharp red lines of new scarring across the side of his son's neck, where Connor's hidden blades had pierced him. "Oh, Haytham…" He holds his son tighter, wishing Haytham had come back younger. Edward has gotten used to visits with a Haytham older than he is, but it is hard to comfort a man that looks at least as old as he is himself.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Not even when the blade went in."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"No—not yet." Haytham still hasn't looked at him, Edward realizes. He's still staring at the ground with a kind of distant intensity, like he's seeing it from a far distance. He looks, for the first time in Edward's memory, like a truly broken man. "Maybe later."

"Do you want to talk about where we are, then?"

"Hell, I assume."

"No," Edward says firmly. "I told you, we're not dead! Don't you ever listen to anything your father says?"

Haytham actually manages to crack a smile at this, but it's there and then gone in an instant. Still, he looks a little more alert as he goes on talking. "If we're not dead, where..?"

"Oh, I have no idea," says Edward, because he actually hasn't gotten around to asking Desmond where they are. "But like I said, we're in Desmond's time."

"2012?"

"I think it's a couple years on, actually," Edward says vaguely. "2013? 2014? I don't know."

"And you wonder why I don't listen to what you say," Haytham says drily. He doesn't say anything else for a while, sagging sideways against Edward instead of continuing to talk. Edward thinks of several dozen comments he'd like to make, but manages to restrain himself, with difficulty. Considerable difficulty. He bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something that will make all this harder for Haytham.

Finally, just when Edward's starting to think he won't be able to restrain himself, Haytham says, "I didn't think it would bother me the way it did."

"What, dying?"

"Yes. But also… that Connor was the one to kill me. He told me a long time ago that he would, and I thought… well, alright. He's an assassin, I'm a templar. I don't particularly like the boy."

"That's a horrible thing to say," Edward scolds.

"It was a long time ago," Haytham says. "I didn't know him then. So I thought he'd take me out in a fight, something of the sort. But when it actually happened, I couldn't fight back. I didn't want to. I… we were at Fort George, fighting, and then suddenly I was visiting."

"Connor?"

Haytham nods. "When he was just a baby." He shifts his arms awkwardly, as if to cradle something (someone) against his chest. Edward thinks his heart might be breaking. This isn't fair. This so isn't fair.

"That must have been hard." The words are inadequate. Of course they are. Edward has never been more than inadequate as a father… he'd failed Jenny, failed Haytham, never known Jacob...

"It was—I don't know. It happened. I couldn't even fight him. I couldn't…"

"That's good," Edward says encouragingly. Because he never had the chance to figure out everything he should have about fatherhood, but he's almost positive that pulling a blade on your son is Bad Parenting.

"But he could," Haytham says glumly. "If I had been any good at all at being a father, I wouldn't have ended up with a son that wanted to kill me. I did everything wrong. I didn't even know I wanted to be a father to Connor until I'd already driven him too far away to ever get him back. I just wish everything could be different, I wish…" his face twists into a sick mockery of a smile. "Ah, well. It's too late for wishing, I suppose. No one in their right mind would want me as their father."

Edward isn't sure what makes him look up from Haytham and toward the door, but he does. And he smiles. "I think you're wrong about that," he says.

Haytham sighs at him and makes a face. "Dad—"

"No, Haytham," Edward says. He reaches over and elbows Haytham, nudging and bothering him until his son looks up in exasperation.

"Wha…"

And then he stops, speechless. Edward grins at him, then back at the door where Desmond is standing, hand gripping his decidedly grubby lion, watching Haytham with an expression caught somewhere between hope and terror. Edward leans over so he can whisper in Haytham's ear.

"I don't think you've done all that badly, as a father," he says, and Haytham nods numbly in response.

"Is it, um—" Desmond's voice is uncertain, his face and body language even more so. "Can I come in, or..?"

"Yes," Haytham says. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. "Please come in, Desmond."

But he still hesitates. "If you're busy, I can come back later."

"No," Haytham says, and Edward hears the way his voice gets stronger, steadier. "I want you here."

Desmond smiles with an enthusiasm he's obviously not even trying to hide, and walks over to where Haytham and Edward are sitting. He sits down in front of Haytham, lion on his lap, and tries three or four times to say something. Haytham looks similarly conflicted, and Edward is getting really sick of all this complaining.

He reaches over and gives Haytham a not so subtle shove toward Desmond. Under normal circumstances, Haytham would have been too in control of himself to let anyone push him around like that. But he's off balance and off his game, ad in a second he's right up against Desmond, who lets out a little gasp and brings up his arm around Haytham in what Edward seriously thinks might be the tightest hug Haytham has ever had. Which is saying something, given the natural difficulty of one armed hugs. It's like Desmond just can't help himself, like he wants so badly to hold and be held that he'll take anyone.

Or, as Edward has been gradually figuring out for a while now, he'll take Haytham. Specifically. And Haytham (after a long moment where he is still and uncertain) seems alright with that. Better than alright.

Edward pulls himself out of the complicated tangle of hug and leaves them alone. He's almost at the door when he hears Desmond say "I missed you," in a voice so quiet Edward almost doesn't catch it.

But he definitely hears Haytham say, "I missed you too."

If there had been anyone else in the area, Edward would have high fived them. Since there isn't, he waits until he's an almost polite distance away before high fiving himself. Good parenting skills, he decides, yes. This is going to be totally manageable, and absolutely nothing is going to go wrong. And maybe—well, he and Haytham are already here. Maybe more visitors will show up. For a second, Edward allows himself to imagine what it would be like to have all eight of them together naturally (or as naturally as anything ever gets, with this group).

They could all get a house together. Or maybe Shay and Aveline could get their own house, and everyone else could live next door. That's probably a lot more realistic—the amount of rhythmic cuddling those two get up to on a daily basis would probably be enough to permanently scar Desmond, if he had to live with them, and severely annoy everyone else.

Maybe Shay and Aveline can live a mile or two away.

The front door opens and then closes a few rooms away, and Edward goes running toward it. He can hear Shaun and Rebecca bickering quietly in the way the two of them seem to enjoy best, and he doesn’t want them bothering Haytham and Desmond just now.

"Hey, Edward," Rebecca says cheerfully. Shaun looks significantly less happy. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Edward says, because he likes Desmond's friends but the second they find out Haytham is here they're going to start complaining about templars and time travel, as if either of those things are necessarily bad. "Everything is perfectly fine and there are no problems here!"

Shaun and Rebecca look at one another, then back at Edward. Shaun groans. "Great," he says. "So seriously, how much of a mess did you make while we were gone?"

He tries to brush past Edward, but Edward grabs him by the forearm before he can take more than a few steps. "Just wait," he says quietly. "Give them ten more minutes."


	5. Chapter 5

Haytham watches Desmond play with the lion. Not _play_ , exactly. Not like he must have as a child. He's just sort of picking at it with the tips of his fingers, like he just wants something to distract himself from looking at Haytham.

The silence stretches on. Haytham knows he should be saying something, but now he's thinking about Desmond playing with this same toy when he'd been small. Maybe he'd sent it off on little play fights the way Haytham had with his toy soldiers. Or maybe he hadn't—Desmond's fingers tighten almost reflexively around the lion, and Haytham thinks maybe Desmond had just… held the lion, like this. Because it was something he _could_ hold, that wouldn't push him away or tell him he wasn't wanted.

"Thanks for, um… for looking after this for me," Desmond says. His eyes flick up for just a fraction of a second to look Haytham full in the face, and then instantly sink again to the lion.

"You asked me to," Haytham says calmly.

"But people don't usually do things just because I ask them to," Desmond points out. "Usually they want something, or—or they just say no. It really meant a lot to me at the time. Still does."

It had meant a lot to Haytham as well. "I wanted to keep you instead," he says, which is not at _all_ what he'd meant to say when he opened his mouth.

"What?"

"It's just that—when you asked me to keep the lion for you, I had…" Haytham inches forward, closing his hand over Desmond's, where it rests on top of the lion. Desmond flinches, but doesn't pull back. "I had one hand on your lion. And the other on you." And he puts the other hand across Desmond's back. For a horrible second, it's the most uncomfortable thing Haytham has ever experienced, but he's gotten this far and he doesn't mean to stop now. "I managed to bring the lion across time to me, but I wanted you there instead."

Desmond shudders, like Haytham's words have lifted some great weight off his shoulders, and pulls his hand off the lion so he can hug Haytham, hard. It's the second time they've hugged in less than half an hour, which is possibly the most Haytham has been hugged in such a short amount of time. It's a great feeling.

"I wanted you to be my dad," Desmond says. "I still want you to be my dad. It's not fair that you aren't. I mean, unless—unless that's not something you want, because then… it wouldn't… it wouldn't be as… I mean—I'd be okay."

Desmond curls up tighter against Haytham's side with every uncertain stutter, as if he's expecting to be sent away and wants to get as close as possible before that happens. Haytham has no intention of doing any such thing, and eventually Desmond seems to realize this. His erratic breathing calms a little, and he glances over at Haytham, confused.

"As far as I'm concerned," Haytham says calmly. "You're mine. The same as Connor is mine." Or maybe Desmond belongs to him, even more than Connor does—at least Desmond wants him. "There are… I don't know how many generations between us, but I can still see elements of myself in you. But in you they are always made better, Desmond, as you are inarguably the better man." Desmond flushes red, but says nothing. "I want you to be happy, to be safe, even more than I want myself to be happy or safe. I am proud of everything you have done in your life so far, and I am… _terrified_ of what fresh new horrors the universe is waiting to unleash on you in the future."

"Join the club," Desmond mumbles, and Haytham decides to take the joking as a good sign. And then—"You really… you want me?"

"More than William Miles does, I'm sure," Haytham says drily.

And for just a second, as Desmond smiles at him with more genuine joy than Haytham has ever seen, Haytham can look at him and think _son_ and believe it. And fifteen minutes later, when Edward comes running back toward them with the news that Shaun and Rebecca are home and on their way…

Haytham still believes it. The moment does not end. Desmond does not get up and walk away. He doesn’t say _No, I was joking, I never wanted you anyway_. Haytham does not wake up, or come to his senses. This is something real. Maybe Haytham has done nothing but fail (over and over, in every stage of his life) with Connor, but without even trying, he’d gotten it right with Desmond.

Desmond stands up, and Haytham can't exactly blame him for wanting to be on his feet for this encounter. He wants to be standing himself, and he gratefully accepts Edward's offered hand. So at least they are all on their feet when Shaun and Rebecca come in.

"Oh my God," Rebecca gasps, clapping her hands over her mouth.

"Why is there a templar in here?" Shaun demands, and he says the word _templar_ like it's something dirty, like it's something disgusting smeared across the bottom of his shoe. Haytham bristles instinctively, opening his mouth to say something equally insulting in response, and Edward looks like he's about to protest as well, but Desmond beats them both to it.

"Hey," he says. He steps up close to his friends, and tries to cross his arms. Then he apparently remembers he only has one arm, and tries to turn the gesture into something vaguely cool. It does not work out particularly well, and Haytham can't stop himself from smiling a little. Oh Desmond, he thinks. Never change. "You guys are my best friends but if you're not okay with Haytham, then I'm not okay with you. He's not a bad guy."

"Um, yes, actually," Shaun protests. "He's a templar, Desmond! In case you hadn't noticed."

"Right," Desmond says, apparently starting to lose his patience a bit. "He's just a templar, the way you're just an assassin, Shaun. Because clearly that's all you are, right? That's the only thing that matters. It doesn't matter that you're a sarcastic asshole most of the time, or a really good historian, or secretly obsessed with Doctor Who."

"You promised you wouldn't tell anyone about that," Shaun hisses at Rebecca.

"You shouldn't be ashamed of having fun once in a while," she says. Then she turns back to Desmond, "Do you really trust him?"

"Yea," Desmond says simply. "Yea, I do. You guys have to at least try to understand, okay? My earliest memory of meeting Haytham was when I was three years old. He's been in my life, taking care of me, _caring about me_ , for basically my entire life. He's been more like a dad than my own father. He basically is my father, and I couldn't ask for a better one."

And suddenly Haytham is trying not to tear up. This is new. But there's something about the absolute conviction in Desmond's voice—in the way he doesn't pretend not to care, or try to hide his feelings—that makes Haytham feel like blubbering. His whole life, he's danced around the subject of who his father is (quite frankly, when you're a templar, the last person you want to admit to having as a father is pirate turned assassin Edward Kenway). And Connor has never made a secret of how ashamed he is of Haytham.

Desmond is proud.

Edward pokes Haytham in the arm, several times, until Haytham swats him away and the urge to cry is replaced by vague irritation, which he's grateful for. He doesn't want to cry in front of Desmond's friends.

"Oh," Rebecca says. She looks briefly uncomfortable, but looks over at Haytham anyway. "I'm sorry," she says. "Of course, if Desmond trusts you, we should too."

Shaun doesn't say anything, but he nods grudgingly. Haytham isn't sure whether he should accept this, until Rebecca leans toward him and whispers, conspiratorially, "It's okay. I've known him for years, and I've never heard him apologize to anyone."

"Hey!" Shaun protests.

"And he's grumpy because he accidentally broke his car."

"Rebecca!" Shaun splutters. "I did not _break_ the car—"

Rebecca's laughing at him. "He told me it was a flat tire, and when I get there the engine's smoking."

"Oh!" Edward pipes up, suddenly looking excited. "Hey, you guys should teach us how to drive!"

"No," Rebecca says, at the same time Shaun says "God no," and Desmond says "Absolutely not."

"What? Why not?" Edward's tone is petulant. "I've steered an entire ship across the entire Caribbean, I think I can manage a van."

"But—"

"Ooh, or a racecar!"

"Hey, Desmond," Shaun says. "Can I add 'nobody is to leave Edward alone near a car' to that list of rules you have?"

"I think we might have to start a new list," Desmond says. "The original one is more like the rules of how visiting works, but we definitely need somewhere to put that one, yes."

"You wrote a list of visiting rules?" Haytham asks.

"Yep," Edward says. "And for the record, you are absolutely breaking rule number eight."

"Rule number eight?" Haytham echoes. He looks from Edward, who is practically vibrating (he does that sometimes, when he gets excited—too much restless energy), to Rebecca (smiling) and Shaun (trying not to), and finally to Desmond (who looks absolutely exasperated). None of them look like they're about to explain. "What's rule number eight?”

"The universe is designed to cause Desmond suffering," Edward recites, and Haytham scoffs.

"That's a terrible rule," he says.

"But true," Edward points out.

"Not because of me."

"Yea, well." Shaun looks skeptical. "Just wait until Bill gets back, yea? He is not going to take this well."

"Is he on his way back now?" Desmond asks, shifting closer to Haytham by an infinitesimal amount. Haytham might not have noticed, except that he’d tried to move closer to Desmond at exactly the same moment, and they’d sort of bumped into each other.

"Not as far as I know," Shaun says. "But—"

"Good!" Edward interjects. "We have time to do something fun before the killjoy comes back."

"Do me a favor," Desmond says nervously. "Don't call him that to his face."

"Maybe we could just do some food, or something," Haytham suggests, and Edward nods eagerly.

"Right?" he says. "I haven't had a bite to eat since you were ten years old."

"Yes," Haytham says patiently. "But that was—what, yesterday for you?"

Edward shrugs, like this insignificant fact shouldn't be allowed to get in the way of him eating large amounts of food. "I've been here a couple of days, actually."

"We're just really behind on the shopping," Desmond admits. "Nobody likes buying groceries."

"I would love to buy groceries," Edward says at once. His whole face lights up, and he slings one arm around Haytham's shoulders and the other around Shaun (possibly because he's the only one that doesn't get out of arm slinging range quickly enough). "We should all go together. I won't try to drive!" He adds this quickly, possibly because Shaun is already opening his mouth to say _no_. "It'd just be cool to see something from this time, you know? Also, food."

"It might not be that bad," Desmond says.

Shaun and Rebecca look at each other, and have a brief, complicated conversation through eyebrow movements. Then Shaun sighs and Rebecca grins at them. "Okay," she says.

"But," Shaun adds quickly, as if he's trying to get all the conditions out before anyone (Edward) can get too excited. "You two need to be able to act like you belong in this time."

"I think we can manage that," Haytham says calmly. "We've visited Desmond often enough to be familiar with how different the technology level here is, even if we don't exactly know what the purpose of everything is."

"Alright, yes," Shaun says. "But you—" he points at Edward. "Can't go around telling people you're a pirate."

"I do _know_ how to be subtle," Edward grumbles. "I just don't like it much."

"And you," Shaun continues, turning to Haytham. "Should, um… probably change your clothes." He looks vaguely disconcerted. "You're a little bit… disturbingly covered with blood."

"I'll find you some clothes that will fit you," Desmond says, and Haytham doesn't protest as he ducks out of the room in search of something for him to wear.


	6. Chapter 6

The real problem with taking Haytham and Edward shopping is that neither of them has much idea what any of the food is.

Well, no, Desmond corrects himself, the real problem is Edward, but that's normal. So Desmond is ready to pull Edward away from the candy aisle (honestly, he really is like a small child), he's ready to make sure they go nowhere near any aisle holding alcohol, and he's ready to distract Edward when he starts talking to anyone else.

What he's not ready for is the constant barrage of questions from both Edward and Haytham. At the beginning, it's mostly just curiosity. What's that, why is it frozen, is that actually edible--questions like that. But as they get farther and farther through the store, Haytham eventually goes quiet (although there's a kind of polite horror in his eyes). Edward, on the other hand, has quite possibly never gone quiet in his entire life, and clearly isn't about to start now. Desmond isn't entirely sure how he managed to make such a good assassin.

"Okay, seriously," Edward says, pulling a package of marshmallows from a display of s'more supplies. "You can't tell me _these_ are a real food."

"They're a real food," Desmond says tiredly. Edward had asked the same question about a box of frozen lasagna, a can of spam, and the entire vegetable section in general. Desmond is at least pretty sure that the vegetables had been a joke (although come to think of it, he can’t actually remember ever seeing Edward eat something as healthy as a vegetable). Regardless, he’s getting just a little tired of answering the same question in the same way over and over again.

Haytham nods. "I've seen those before," he says, pointing to the marshmallows. "They were far more expensive back then, of course."

"What did they taste like?" Edward asks, studying the package intently.

"A child's vomit," Haytham says bluntly.

"Okay, ew," Rebecca says, making a face. "I'm never going to be able to eat s'mores again."

"Good." Haytham eyes the tower of marshmallows and chocolates and graham crackers. "This garbage looks like it could kill you."

"It's good," Desmond says, and Haytham pauses, apparently considering this. For a second, Desmond feels a jolt of surprise that his opinion is enough to make Haytham reconsider something. He'd never been able to influence William on… anything. Then Edward hits Haytham in the side of the head with a marshmallow, and the moment is over.

"Lighten up," he scolds.

"Edward!" Desmond protests. "You can't open the packaging before you buy it!"

"It's fine," Edward says dismissively. "It's just a little hole, see?"

"That's not the point—"

"Oh, yes," Haytham grumbles. He's pulling at his hair to get the last stickiness from the marshmallow out of it. "That's clearly the problem here, not his childishly throwing things at my head."

"Well it's not like we can stop him from doing that," Desmond points out, and they both laugh.

"Oh, hey!" Edward drops the marshmallows (Haytham leans down and picks them up, puts them away on their proper shelf. Desmond moves them to the back where the hole won't be noticed right away). "Turkeys!"

"So you really like turkeys?" Shaun asks. He and Rebecca are kind of hovering behind the other three, more like they're watching than like they're really part of the group.

"No, it's just…" he pulls up the biggest turkey and hauls it over to Shaun. "It's kind of an inside joke, I guess? But see, Connor used to have these turkeys on the homestead, and sometimes when Shay and Aveline's kids would visit, they'd run around after the birds and dress them up in little assassin hats, it was adorable."

"Or a sign that they needed more socialization," Haytham adds. "Possibly more children their own age." 

“They always seemed friendly enough with Jenny and Jacob,” Edward points out.

“Both of whom were old enough to be their grandparents,” Haytham says. “It’s not exactly a normal friendship.” He takes the turkey back and gently steers his father away from Shaun, who looks justifiably concerned about the enthusiasm with which Edward has been waving a frozen bird in his face.

"Can't we buy a turkey?" Edward asks. "Come on, we can dress them up, just like the old days! Assassin turkeys! It'll be great!"

"Strangely enough," Haytham says dryly, "I'm not particularly interested in assassin turkeys."

"We can make some templar turkeys, I suppose," Edward says, after a moment of consideration.

"Maybe it's time to leave," Desmond says, because if they don’t get out of here soon he's just going to start laughing and not stop.

"So far we have a couple dozen frozen dinners and…" Shaun fishes something out of their half full cart, and holds it up disbelievingly. "A box of cat food."

"Nothing wrong with cat food," Haytham says briskly.

"We don't have a cat!"

A short pause, then Haytham suggests, "We could get one."

"The point," Shaun goes on, abandoning the cat food on the closest shelf (Desmond sighs and grabs it to put back later, because there's no reason to go around making a mess). "The point is, do we really have enough food?"

"Well, for a few days," Desmond says. "And next time, maybe we can come back in a smaller group."

"Maybe without the time travelers," Rebecca says, patting Shaun comfortingly on the arm.

"Fine," Shaun sighs, and turns the cart around to point at the checkout. "Let's get going."

They've just finished checking out and are headed to the parking lot when Desmond's phone buzzes. Which is unusual in and of itself, because it's a secure line and the only person with the number that isn't right here is his father. And his father isn't going to bother calling him. But, at the exact same moment his phone buzzes, so does Rebecca's. And Shaun's.

"That's weird," Shaun mumbles, pulling his phone out and frowning at the message.

Desmond's got his hand full with swatting Edward away from the cart, so he doesn't go for his phone at once. "What is it?"

"I don't… know, exactly."

"Well, who's it from?"

"Nobody," says Rebecca, frowning down at her own phone. "There's just a blank space where the sender should be."

"Oh shit." Desmond abandons Edward and dives for his phone. "Clay."

"Clay?" Shaun echoes. "As in Subject Sixteen? The dead guy?"

"He's only sort of dead," Desmond mutters, focusing on his phone. It's hard to navigate with only one hand. Eventually he gets to his inbox and sure enough, there's a message waiting for him with no sender, the same as the emails Desmond is more used to getting from Clay. "He lives on the internet now. He used to live in the animus, but now that’s just Owen."

" _What?_ " Rebecca demands. “Who?” but Desmond is staring at his phone and the message displayed on the screen.

THEY HAVE HER

"Is this what he sent you guys?" he asks, holding his phone up for Rebecca and Shaun to see.

"Yea," Rebecca says. "Should we be worried?"

Shaun makes a dismissive face. "If—and I'm not fully convinced, by the way—" And he really doesn't _look_ convinced. "If this really is Clay, he's probably just bleeding."

"He's way better than he used to be," Desmond says. "I don't know who 'they' are—or 'her', actually—but if Clay thinks it's a big enough deal to tell all of us about it, I believe him."

"Come on," Rebecca says, pulling Desmond gently toward the car. "We shouldn't be having this conversation out in the open, if nothing else."

"Yea," he agrees. "Sure."

But as soon as they're settled in the van and headed back to the safe house, Desmond starts sending questions back to Clay. For a long time there's no response at all, but eventually Desmond gets another text.

SUBJECT 18

And under this is a grainy, black and white picture (it looks like surveillance footage) of a girl, maybe two or three years old, curled up on a floor. She's asleep, and looks healthy enough, if scrawny, with her thumb in her mouth and the other arm hugging herself tight. Maybe for warmth, maybe just for the feeling of being touched.

Either way, the second Desmond sees that picture, something in him gets angry. He's never really been an angry guy, and he's definitely never felt a fury like this one before. It's almost a protective feeling, like he wants to swoop in and rescue her. Subject 18. An animus subject. A subject like him. They... they _can't_ use a kid in the animus, and this one is so small. Her parents (if Abstergo deigned to even keep them alive after snatching her from wherever she'd come from) must be absolutely terrified.

Rebecca is driving so Desmond elbows Shaun and shows him the picture. “Look at this,” he says.

Shaun takes it in, eyes suddenly narrowing. “That's a kid!”

“What's going on?” Edward demands loudly, and Desmond explains the animus as quickly as he can. All his visitors know the basic details, of course, but he hadn't seen a reason to give them the full picture before now.

In the end, both Edward and Haytham look appropriately horrified, and Desmond looks around at them all. "We have to get her out."

"Desmond," Shaun starts, but Desmond shakes his head sharply.

"Don't you get it?" he demands. "They are _torturing_ a child! That says Subject 18, that means she’s their next animus project. There’s no possible way a child would be able to handle that, Shaun. And she shouldn’t have to!"

"I'm not saying she deserves this," Shaun says, very quickly (because Desmond is shouting at him now, and Desmond does not shout). "Obviously not. I'm just saying we don't know where she is, how heavily guarded, why they want her—"

"Alright then, we'll get more information," Desmond says. "Clay should be able to help, and… and we'll figure something out."

"You're going to let us help too, aren't you?" Edward asks, gesturing to himself and Haytham. "Or are we disqualified because of the time travel thing?"

"He might be disqualified because of the whole templar thing," Shaun grumbles. He tries to look at Haytham, but Haytham is suddenly glaring at him, and Shaun clearly can't take that for long. Desmond wonders if he's still thinking of the message Haytham had written him during his first meeting with Connor. Haytham clearly is; it's in his eyes, the way they almost look like he's laughing at Shaun.

His voice doesn't sound at all like he's laughing when he speaks, though. "If you are implying that, as a templar, I am unable to feel sympathy for a child in a situation like this one—"

"Oh, you mean being held hostage by your people?" Shaun interrupts.

"I wouldn't exactly consider them _my people._ "

"No, just templars, like you're a templar."

"Shaun!" Desmond almost shouts, and the bickering dies down at once. "Let it go, okay? He's on our side." And he's not sure if Shaun believes him, but he does at least go quiet. In fact, the rest of the trip back to the safe house is almost completely quiet.

Desmond keeps texting Clay, but (somewhat worryingly) there's no response. Finally, when they pull into the safe house and stop, he puts his phone away reluctantly. They have half a dozen bags full of microwave meals waiting to be unloaded, and Desmond needs his hand to help with that more than he needs to be on his phone right now. Still, he's slower than usual, and Haytham lingers as well.

"Desmond?"

"Yea?" He tries to keep his voice unconcerned, but he isn't upset when Haytham doesn't look like he's buying it.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?"

"Just the kid," Desmond says. "I hate the thought of them doing to her what they did to me. I mean… yea, I got you guys out of the deal but not everyone was that lucky. Clay, for example. That guy that texted us about her in the first place, he was the subject before me, and he went absolutely insane. He cut himself open with a pen and painted messages on the walls of his cell in his own blood. And I really don't want that to happen to that little girl."

Haytham nods, and squeezes Desmond's shoulder. "It won't."

"How do you know?" Desmond asks miserably. "Abstergo is _really_ bad news."

"Well," Haytham says. "She has you looking out for her now, and you are the kind of person that gives and gives of yourself to keep others safe. I mean, that's why we still have a world today."

Desmond is smiling a little when he and Haytham make it into the house at last, but the memory of the little girl's face is still haunting him behind that smile.

"Desmond!" Shaun shouts from the kitchen. By the sound of it, he's been shouting for some time. "Desmond!"

"What!" Desmond shouts back.

"Get in here!"

Desmond looks at Haytham in concern, and the two of them hurry forward to find—

"Oh," Haytham says dismissively.

"This needs to stop happening," Shaun says, pointing at the other side of the kitchen where Edward is deep in excited conversation with Ezio. Desmond isn't even surprised anymore, not at Ezio's sudden reappearance and not at the fact that he looks barely twenty years old, as young as he had been during Desmond's earliest animus sessions with him. "This one almost gave me a heart attack."

"It wasn't on purpose," Ezio says earnestly. "I wasn't exactly expecting to wake up here."

And then everyone is talking at once, a confused frenzy as they try to catch Ezio up all at the same time. Any other man would have at least _tried_ to slow them down but Ezio—beaming fit to burst—opens his arms as if to welcome them all and the chaos that comes with them.


	7. Chapter 7

Edward is more than a little excited to have Ezio back. He's a good friend, which is not something he would ever have predicted after their first, disastrous meeting on the day Edward stole Duncan Walpole's robes. Edward's not exactly sure when Ezio made that transition from 'weird, disapproving ghost' to 'close personal friend,' but he definitely has.

It might have been during that visit at the Rosa in Fiore when they’d slept together. It had probably helped a little.

"Welcome back," he says, when things have managed to calm down a little.

"And how exactly _am_ I back?" Ezio asks. His accent is understandable but thick, which actually surprises Edward for a second. He's gotten so used to just knowing whatever his visitors have to say that he tends to forget that they don't all speak the same language. He briefly thinks about being upset by this reminder of where they all actually come from, but then decides there's no point. After everything they've been through together, there's no point in getting upset over stupid things like this.

"Wow," Edward says instead. "You sound _really_ Italian."

Ezio gives him a _well duh_ look. "That's not what I asked."

"Oh." He shrugs. "I don't know. I woke up here two days ago, and Haytham got back this morning. Now you're here!" He smiles. "It's been a really good couple days, for a bunch of people that all remember dying yesterday."

"Speaking of that," Ezio says. "We're not actually dead, right? Just for the record?"

"Nope."

"Ah." And Ezio doesn't look as happy to be back as Edward himself had been. "So why are we _here_?"

"Well, Desmond's here," Edward says. "It might have something to do with his whole world saving thing. First civ stuff. Although…" he trails off thoughtfully. "I guess it would have made more sense for us to come back earlier, if that's the case."

"What's the date?" Ezio asks, and Edward waves a dismissive hand.

"Two thousand something."

"Fifteen," Haytham says, coming over to join the conversation. "2015. October."

"Show off," Edward mumbles.

"And it's a Tuesday."

"I don't think I raised you to be a showoff," Edward continues, and he might have said a lot more except that Desmond comes over to join them just then.

"Hey, Ezio," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

But not a single one of them believes that. Not with Ezio's tone so purposefully casual. Edward crosses his arms and frowns at Ezio, and although he doesn't glance left or right he knows Desmond and Haytham are doing pretty much the same thing.

"Ezio?" Desmond asks, and the Italian gives a long sigh before drooping a little and giving in. He suddenly looks very small, smaller even than he should considering he's come back so young.

"I'm good," he says. "Really. I just miss my wife and kids. My family."

Edward is still trying to figure out an appropriate response when Haytham clears his throat, which tells Edward immediately that he's not completely comfortable with whatever he's about to say.

"I'm sorry about Sofia," he says. "I know you cared a lot for her."

"Thank you," Ezio says, and he looks almost as surprised to hear Haytham say that, as Haytham sounds to be saying it himself. Still, he apparently isn't done.

"And I realize," he goes on stiffly. "That you might not want to hear this coming from me, but even if your family isn't here… we are."

Ezio looks from Haytham to Edward to Desmond (mouthing _'wow'_ at Edward as he does so), and then hugs Haytham.

"Ezio!" he protests.

"No, you don't get to argue," Ezio says cheerfully. "You started it." Haytham casts Edward a pleading look over Ezio's shoulder, but Edward shakes his head, grinning. There have been times (especially in the first few months after he learned that the mysterious Hat Man was actually his son) when Edward didn't think he would ever understand Haytham. He'd thought whatever had happened to him between his tenth birthday and his first adult visit had changed him into someone cold and distant, someone Edward could work with but maybe not particularly like. But between the way Haytham acts around Desmond, and his unexpectedly opening up to Ezio now, Edward is pretty sure he's never been more proud of his son than he is right at this moment.

What finally saves Haytham from the hug is Shaun and Rebecca walking over. "So," Rebecca says. She looks at Ezio, flushes, and then continues. "If you guys don't mind, can we maybe talk a little about what we want to do now? Are—" and this time she's clearly looking at Haytham. "Are all of you working with us now?"

"Sure," Edward says. "I don't know much about the assassins in this time—" Although he does knows if more of them are like William Miles, he definitely doesn't _like_ them. "But what else is there to do?"

Ezio nods as well, but since his entire life has basically revolved around the assassins since he was a teenager, Edward doesn't think this surprises anyone.

"Haytham?" Desmond asks, and Haytham considers this.

"I would like to remind you all that I'm a templar."

"So that's a no, then?" Shaun asks.

"From what I've seen, the order in this century isn't worth bearing the name," Haytham says dismissively. "But I am not an assassin."

"Oh," Desmond says quietly. His face falls, and maybe Haytham catches that, because when he goes on the words come more quickly.

"However, I see no reason I can't work _with_ you all. Especially on missions we can all agree on."

"Like what?" Shaun asks.

"Like this subject eighteen," Haytham says. "I don't think any of us wants to abandon her, especially if even a fraction of what Desmond says about this animus is true."

"It's all true," Desmond assures him.

"There you go, then," Haytham says. "We need to get her out."

"Well." Shaun looks uncertain in the face of Haytham's matter of fact confidence. "Alright then."

Ezio raises his eyebrows at Edward, obviously confused about who this girl is. Well, aren't they all? Edward mouths 'later' at him.

"I'll start asking questions," Rebecca says. "I have some contacts that might have heard something if Abstergo's found themselves a new animus subject."

"Thanks," Desmond says. "I'm going to start trying to get everyone settled."

Shaun nods. "And I'm—"

"We need to talk," Haytham interrupts smoothly. "There are some things I've wanted to say to you since my first meeting with Connor. I'm sure you remember that."

"Come on," Edward whispers to Desmond, tugging at him.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to leave him here?"

"Sure," Edward says. "He's having fun!"

"Yea," Desmond says. "But I was actually worried about Shaun." Still, he lets Edward pull him away, with Ezio following cheerfully behind. Haytham's stern lecturing of Shaun (Edward hears the word _arsehole_ more than once) follows them as they walk away.

"We're going to run out of room in here soon," Desmond says, peeking into one of the few empty bedrooms. "But you can stay here for now. I mean, if you guys are all planning to stay."

"I don't see where else we could go," Ezio says as they head into the room, which makes Desmond smile. He sits down cross legged on the (slightly dusty) bed, and Desmond joins him. "So who is this girl Haytham was talking about before?"

Desmond explains, or at least starts to, but Ezio interrupts as soon as he sees the messages Clay had sent. "That's from Clay?"

"You know him?" Edward asks.

"He's one of my descendants," Ezio says, looking sad. "I met him, once."

Desmond hesitates, then offers his phone to Ezio. "Do you want to talk to him? I'm sure he'll be ecstatic about it."

Edward gets bored while the other two hunch over Desmond's phone, whispering back and forth while the phone between them buzzes more or less constantly. Clay, whoever and whatever he may be, really does sound _extremely_ excited to be talking to Ezio. But Edward doesn't know him, so he ends up wandering over to the room's window.

There's nothing special about the view. A few dull houses line both sides of the street, quiet for the moment. One or two cars (and Edward still fully intends to learn to drive one, whatever anyone else has to say about that) go slowly past, lights coming on as the sun goes down and the streetscape fades into twilight. A group of kids go running past the window, toward a playground at the end of the block, a sudden burst of sound against the almost silent evening.

"It's very different from our time, isn't it?" Haytham asks, and Edward realizes his son has managed to get right up behind him, unseen and unheard.

"Very," Edward agrees quietly. He turns away from the window and leans against the wall, surveying Haytham. "How was your conversation with Shaun?"

"It went well," Haytham says. He sounds absolutely serene. "He apologized for some of the rude comments he made about me while Desmond was in the animus. I don't think he'll be saying anything like that again."

"I hope you didn't scare him too much."

"Only mildly." He smiles, then changes the subject. "Do you think this is going to work out in the long run?"

"I don't think we can do anything about it," Edward says. "We don't know why or how we're here, we can't exactly go home. And we'd be dead, anyway."

"I was talking more about being all together," Haytham says. "We've never really… I mean, you and I lived together, of course, when I was a child."

"Before I died," Edward agrees. It's getting a little easier to talk about, maybe helped by the fact that _he's not actually dead_. There's only the slight ache in his chest, when he remembers it's supposed to hurt, that reminds him he'd been stabbed to death only a few days before.

Haytham nods stiffly. Maybe talk of Edward's death hurts him more than it hurts Edward himself. He gets back to his point quickly. "And Shay and Aveline, of course, lived together for quite a while. I've spent quite a lot of time with Shay, and Connor's worked with Aveline before. But other than that… none of us have really been in the same place for a long period of time. We've definitely never _all_ been together like this, and I don't think there's any chance that the rest of us won't show up, at this point."

"You don't think we'll be able to get along?" Edward asks.

"I don't know," Haytham admits. "I'm… worried, I suppose. Shaun and Rebecca are already uncomfortable enough with me being here, I imagine things will only get worse if I stay."

"First of all," Edward says. "You're staying."

"But—"

"You're staying. And second, I think things will get better. Once they see why the rest of us like you, they'll come around. Right now all they can see is that you're a templar. They'll get over it."

"I hope so," Haytham admits.

"Besides," Edward says. "I'm pretty sure you'd crush Desmond if you just got up and left."

They look back at where they’d left Desmond and Ezio talking to Clay, although at this point it's just Ezio. He's taken the phone and is painstakingly tapping out messages on the screen, tongue poking out the side of his mouth in apparent concentration, eyes narrowed in intense focus. Desmond, meanwhile, has ended up sprawled across the bed, apparently asleep.

Haytham snorts out a laugh, a fond, unexpected sound that Edward really likes hearing. At this point, he's not sure whether Haytham is helping Desmond, or if it's more the other way around. Either way, it's good. "Stay," he says, poking at Haytham.

"Father…" Haytham gives him a familiar, exasperated look. "It's not a simple issue."

"Of course it is," Edward insists. "You said it yourself, we're like family."

"But—"

Edward pokes him again. "Just say you'll stay!" he insists. "And I'll stop bothering you."

Haytham makes a face--sighs. "Of course I'll stay," he says.


	8. Chapter 8

Haytham waits patiently for two weeks. What he's waiting for, Haytham can't say. Not even to himself. On the face of it, everything is going well. He and his father and Desmond and Ezio are all together, and it just feels right. Or half right, maybe. Only half of the visitors are there, after all. But still—this is so much better than before.

Most mornings, Haytham wakes up at the crack of dawn, well before any of the others. He and his father are sharing a room, because after all there isn't all that much space in the house. Haytham had raised a bit of a fuss in the beginning, because he feels it's expected of him, but honestly the arrangement makes him happy. Except that happy doesn't really do it justice, but Haytham has a very small vocabulary when it comes to good feelings. He knows half a hundred ways to be miserable, but he's so very rarely happy…

The point being, every morning now, Haytham gets the distinct pleasure of waking to the sight of his father only feet away from him. Alive. Haytham takes the time to wake up slowly, drinking in the sight of his father. It is the best possible way to wake up.

After that, Haytham showers (something he prefers to do before anyone else is awake, when there's still hot water). He doesn't trust twenty first century plumbing much, but every consecutive morning without a toilet or shower related mishap makes Haytham slightly more confident. He is a templar grandmaster, after all, and he refuses to be frightened of simple plumbing.

After that, Haytham dresses in his borrowed clothes, sighing at the loss of his robes, and goes into Desmond's room. Ezio is sharing with him, but Ezio could sleep through a hurricane. Desmond is a little more restless, so when Haytham sits himself down at the room's desk, it is usually less than five minutes before Desmond wakes.

Haytham always pretends he has some other reason to be there, and Desmond politely pretends to believe him. The truth is, Haytham just wants to see the look on Desmond's face when he opens his eyes. A kind of delighted surprise that makes Haytham feel warm and wanted, a look that he can't even imagine on Connor's face.

"You're still here," Desmond says, every morning.

"Did you want me to go?" Haytham asks.

And Desmond will shake his head and smile, and then get out of bed to take care of his own business in the bathroom. When he's done, they just sit and talk. It doesn't matter what about; sometimes Desmond will teach Haytham about something from this century that Haytham hasn't yet encountered. Sometimes they talk about their visitors, and speculate on who will come back next. Sometimes, they even manage to laugh together—it has been a long time since Haytham laughed like this with anyone, but Desmond makes him happy.

It should be strange, to gain a son in the manner that Desmond has come to him. But in one way or another, Haytham has been looking out for Desmond since the day he met him as a child at the opera. Now it is just a blessing for them to be able to stay together. And although Haytham has no idea how to be a father, Desmond is no more certain of how to be a son. Through their quiet morning talks, through the time they spend together the rest of the day, through the way they act and think and feel, they're figuring it out.

Today, the conversation has turned to one of Desmond's favorite subjects, the child they plan to rescue from Abstergo. Except that today, for once, Haytham is the one that brings her up. "I'm a little concerned," he starts, when the conversation has drifted away from other subjects. "About how invested you've gotten in eighteen."

"I'm not invested," Desmond says.

"You have her picture saved on your phone," Haytham says. "You're always looking at it. You're always talking about her—"

"I just want to remember," Desmond says.

"Remember what?" Haytham asks. "Have you seen her somewhere before?"

"No. But…" Haytham waits him out. It doesn't seem so much that Desmond doesn't want to talk, more that he's struggling to find the right words. Sure enough, after a few false starts, rambling half sentences that go nowhere, Desmond is able to go on. "Every time I look at her, I think…. _God_ , I know that face. And I've been trying to place it and I couldn't until I started to think maybe it's not the face." He swipes his phone to unlock it and sets it on the table between them. The picture of eighteen is right there on the screen, and now that Desmond has pointed it out, Haytham has to agree. There is something in her face that looks familiar. Still, he doesn't want to encourage Desmond, so Haytham just makes a noncommittal noise in response.

"It's not really the face," Desmond repeats. "I mean, it is the face, but not the features. It's the expression."

"What about it?"

"It's just… she's all alone," Desmond says quietly. "She's lonely, and there's nothing worse than being a little kid that nobody wants. When you're older, it's easier. You get kind of used to it."

"You shouldn't have to," Haytham grumbles.

Desmond gives him a smile that is no less sincere for how small it is. "I know," he says. "Things are different now. But when I was a kid, I—Haytham, I know how she's feeling. I know what it's like to be three years old and convinced that nobody wants you. And it's awful. It's just the worst thing in the world. My parents didn't exactly lock me in a cell or anything, but it's not like they were ever around. It's like I was useless to them until I was old enough to start training. When I was three, all I wanted was someone to talk to me like I mattered, or hold me, or just—just be there. And…" he's struggling again. "No one else wants this girl, so I want her. If— _when_ we meet, I want to be able to tell her that I've been waiting a long time to meet her. I want her to know that she's important to someone. That's why I have her picture on my phone. To remember."

Haytham manages to smile. "You are something truly special, Desmond," he says. "I mean it."

"I just want to help."

"That's what I mean." He sighs. "But you do know she must have parents somewhere, don't you?"

"If Abstergo didn't kill them when they took her," Desmond points out.

"Desmond."

He sighs. "I know, I know. And as soon as we figure out who she is and who her parents are, she can go back to them." He smiles, but the expression is so sad that Haytham can't make himself believe it. "You know what? We haven't even met yet and I already think I'm going to miss her."

Haytham doesn't exactly want to leave the conversation like that, but the front door suddenly opens, distracting them both. "Are we expecting anyone?" Haytham asks, already half on his feet.

"I don't think so," Desmond says. He gets up as well, and ignores Haytham's gesture to get back and let him go first. Desmond creeps out of the room on silent feet, and Haytham is just about to follow when he hears Desmond say "Dad!" His tone is surprised and upset. "What are you doing back?"

"I had business in Wisconsin," William says. "I finished it, I came back."

"What kind of bus—"

"Desmond, I'm tired and I'm hungry. It's been a long few days, and all I want now is something to eat and then eight hours in bed."

"But dad—"

Haytham stays steadfastly seated as two pairs of footsteps come hurrying toward the kitchen. He'd known that he would have to meet William Miles sooner or later, and as much as he's dreading the moment, he refuses to cower and put it off. That's not the kind of man he is. He just takes a deep breath, and settles himself more firmly in the chair. Whatever happens next is going to be important. Shaun and Rebecca have been unexpectedly accepting of him after Desmond read them the riot act on Haytham's first day in this century.

Something tells him William won't be as understanding. He won't understand how a templar can live under the same roof as a group of assassins, and he won't understand the way Haytham and Desmond have started to think of each other as father and son.

William freezes in the doorway, and Desmond almost bounces off his back as he hurries in as well. "What are you doing here?" William spits at Haytham. He turns in a one eighty and scowls at Desmond. "What is he doing here, Desmond?"

Desmond tries to say something, but William doesn't give him a chance. "Is this more of your guest bullshit?"

"Visitor," Desmond corrects. His voice is small. "But—"

"You think I care what you call each other? Why is he here?"

"He just showed up," Desmond says. "The same as Edward and Ezio!"

That actually makes William pause. "Ezio is here too?" he asks, tone suddenly far more respectful than it had been when talking about Haytham. Then he shakes his head sharply, and grabs Desmond roughly by the upper arm. "Never mind, we'll talk about that later. I'm only going to ask you one more time, Desmond. Why. Is. He. Here?"

"Because he wants to be," Desmond says.

"Oh, perfect," William scoffs. "The templar wants to be here, so we'll just let him stay and gather information and then kill us all in our sleep."

"It's not like that," Desmond says. " _He's_ not like that. He wants to be here, and… and Edward and Ezio want him to be here, and Shaun and Rebecca—well, they're coming around. And you know what?" Desmond wrenches his arm away from his father and takes a step or two back. Away from William, toward Haytham. He straightens his back, and crosses his arms. " _I_ want him here. More than I want you here, that's for sure."

"Ungrateful brat!"

Desmond raises his arms in a kind of angry, helpless shrug. "What exactly am I supposed to be grateful _for_?" he demands, and storms away before his father can answer. William starts to follow, and Haytham takes this as his cue to intervene. He gets up and in three quick strides has caught up with William. "Don't," he snarls, blocking William's way out.

"Get out of the way."

"No," Haytham says. "Listen to me. I have no intention of harming anyone in this house, but I may just reconsider if you don't leave Desmond alone. I understand how difficult it is to be a father." Of course he does. It's a miracle Connor had only been moderately traumatized by being Haytham’s son (Haytham's neck starts to throb painfully as he thinks of Connor, but he ignores the feeling). "But you are hurting Desmond. You have never done anything but hurt him, and I'm tired of seeing him more and more broken every time he talks to you. So leave Desmond alone, stop bothering him, and the two of us won't have a problem."

William splutters senselessly, and Haytham thinks viciously that he's never seen such a strong resemblance between Desmond and his father as he does in this moment. Haytham considers giving him a chance to react (he's itching for a fight, or at least an argument), but maybe now is not the time. He gives the man one last, narrow eyed glare, and leaves the room, going in the same direction that Desmond had gone. He has not gone very far at all though, when he stumbles on not only Desmond, but Edward and Ezio as well.

"Thanks for saying that," Desmond says quietly.

"You heard?"

"We all heard," Ezio grumbles. His hair is sticking up from where he'd slept on it, and he obviously hasn't been awake for very long.

"You did good," Edward adds, and Haytham sighs.

"I have a feeling I won't be staying here much longer," he says glumly. "Not after what I just said to William."

"Don't worry," Edward says firmly. "We'll have your back."


	9. Chapter 9

Ezio corners Desmond the day after William comes back to the safe house, because he isn't blind, deaf and dumb after all. He'd heard the argument between William and Haytham, and he feels he should do something to make him feel better. Except that when he corners Desmond (sitting on the safe house's roof, safely out of sight of the road), Desmond doesn't seem upset at all.

"Ezio!" he says enthusiastically. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Yea?" Ezio drops down next to Desmond, legs dangling over the edge of the roof. "What about?" There's a wet half pipe in the way of his legs, so Ezio kicks it out of the way.

"Ezio!" Desmond protests. "What are you doing?"

"It was in the way."

"You can't just go around breaking gutters whenever you want!"

"Hey," Ezio says loudly. "Remember thirty seconds ago, when you were happy to see me?"

Desmond stares at him for a second, then bursts out laughing. It's not a sound Ezio is too used to hearing, and he grins back. "Alright," Desmond says at last, when he's calmed down a little. "When dad asks about that, we know nothing. Alright?"

"Deal," Ezio agrees. He legitimately has no desire to get on the wrong side of William Miles, who looks like the kind of guy that knows how to hold a grudge. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Clay's back," Desmond says, gesturing to the phone in his lap. "He says hi."

"And?" Ezio asks, almost suspiciously. There has to be some reason Desmond had already been in such a good mood when Ezio showed up. "What else is he saying?"

"He's..." Desmond hesitates. "He's been looking into Abstergo's servers, researching Eighteen."

"Oh."

"Haytham thinks I'm too interested in her," Desmond says glumly. "But I just want her to be safe, is that so wrong?"

"Not at all," Ezio says. "I'm sure that whatever Haytham said, he only meant it out of concern for you."

"I know," Desmond says. "I just don't want to disappoint him so much he leaves, or anything."

"I'm pretty sure you can't," Ezio laughs. "But why don't you tell me what Clay's dug up?"

Desmond hesitates, then nods. "Alright," he agrees. "So Eighteen… Clay said he started by looking for her name, but as far as he can tell, she doesn't have one."

"Everyone has a name," Ezio protests.

"Not when they've been a templar prisoner since the day they were born," Desmond says.

"When what?"

"Yea," Desmond says. "It's horrible, isn't it? Apparently Abstergo got hold of her mother at some point during the pregnancy, and she gave birth right there."

"And what happened to her?" Ezio asks.

"No idea," Desmond says, glancing down at his phone again. "Clay told me he's been looking everywhere, but he can't find anything. Not where she is, or if she's alive or dead, not even the name. All he's found is some mention of complications during the pregnancy, and then—" he makes a flat noise. "Nothing."

"What about the father?"

"Less than nothing." Desmond frowns. "Eighteen doesn't exist anywhere outside Abstergo. No one is looking for her. No one misses her. No one even knows she exists. Just us."

"So I guess we'll have to go get her," Ezio says. Desmond smiles. "Any idea where she is?"

"Madison, Wisconsin," Desmond says. "There's a small Abstergo facility there. Maybe a dozen employees."

"And one captive."

Desmond's face is grim as he shakes his head. "Not for long." His phone buzzes, and he glances down at his lap. "I swear," he says, and his voice has a brittle kind of cheerfulness that tells Ezio he's faking it. Damn, and Ezio had come here to make him feel better, not worse. "We need to see if we can get you a phone of your own. Clay's been texting me about you at least twice a day since I told him you're here."

"He's a decent guy," Ezio says. "I wouldn't mind talking to him more." He also wouldn't mind having his own phone. Rebecca's been teaching him and Edward to play Angry Birds.

"Here." Desmond tosses his phone to Ezio, and stands up to go inside. They've done this more than once before—Clay really is almost disturbingly eager to talk to Ezio. _Almost_ disturbingly. Ezio can't really bring himself to be upset, not when he really does like the guy. Clay's getting better, and every time they talk, he sounds a little bit more like himself (at least, that's what Ezio assumes, never having met the man before the animus) and a little bit less like the illegitimate son Ezio never got to meet.

(He still regrets that he never knew the kid existed, when he had a chance to do something about it. That he has a son with a face he's never seen and a name he doesn't know)

Most days, he tries not to dwell on all that. It's far too late now to change things. That unknown son is long dead and buried, along with Flavia and Marcello. Desmond is alive. Clay is alive (sort of). They are as much his family as anyone in this time. They need to be cared for, and so Ezio sits there on the roof with Desmond's phone, long after Desmond himself has gone inside. Finally, the phone dies, effectively killing the conversation, and Ezio is about to follow Desmond inside when Edward comes clambering out of a window. "Hey," he says. His tone and his face are both disgruntled. "There you are."

"Were you looking for me?"

"Yep." Edward sits down next to Ezio, eyeing the broken gutter curiously. "I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here for a while."

"Why?"

" _Why_?" Edward repeats, in a tone of almost incredulous disbelief. "Because this is boring! We haven't left the house since the day you got here, I know you must be feeling the cabin fever as much as I am."

"Sure," Ezio says. "But we don't know enough about this time to go unnoticed. We're only going to bring trouble back home for everyone else."

"Come on," Edward says. "We're assassins! Hiding in plain sight, and all that."

"It's never exactly been your strong suit," Ezio says, and Edward makes a face at him. The two of them make faces at one another for a while, and then Ezio laughs and shrugs. "Sure," he says. "But let's at least try to—hey, Edward!" He has to shout this last part, because Edward has already taken off running, leaping off the roof of their safe house and onto the one next door. And he's laughing like a madman, of course. Ezio sighs and does his best to keep the smile off his face. _Edward_.

They don't go far, because it's not like they have any idea where to go or how to get there. They just wander around the streets full of houses until they get to a larger road full of faster cars, and then they follow that for a while. Eventually, it leads under a bridge, where a group of teenagers are smoking something that smells foul and spraying colorful paint onto the bridge's support out of cans.

"That looks like fun," Edward says cheerfully, as he and Ezio come to a stop in the shadows, out of sight of the gang. Ezio's pretty sure they're a gang—he's certainly seen enough street thugs in his own time, and it seems that some things don't really change over the centuries.

"Which part?" Ezio asks, eyeing Edward cautiously. He would not put it past Edward to be talking about joining a street gang.

"The paint stuff," Edward says. "I can think of a few ways to use that."

"I'm sure you could," Ezio says. His eyes are on the biggest of the teens, a muscled guy that the others look at with something almost like respect. Probably their leader. One hand is busy with whatever it is he's smoking, but the other is holding the grip of a sleek black pistol. "But I'm a little more concerned with that."

"Think there's going to be trouble?"

"Maybe."

"Christ," Edward says fervently. "I hope so."

And Ezio doesn't even have enough time to point out to Edward that he really shouldn't be saying things like that, before two of the younger teens—small and skinny, practically children, to Ezio's eyes—start shouting about something, pushing at each other. The leader calls to them to shut up and sit down, but when they don't, he gets to his feet.

"We should do something, shouldn't we?" Edward says.

"Give it a minute," Ezio says. He's physically holding Edward back at this point. "We're supposed to be staying out of sight."

But then the leader holds the gun up, his grip awkward around the metal handle. He doesn't look like he's too familiar with how to use the weapon, but that doesn't mean he won't actually fire the thing. It doesn't mean he won't hit one or both of the kids, either. Ezio sighs and gives in, finally letting Edward go. "Fine," he says. "Just try not to kill any of them."

They both go running into the crowd, and for a few minutes everything is absolute chaos. Edward takes out the leader, no problem. He goes down hard, the gun clattering away on the hard, dark surface of the road. The two kids the gang leader had been aiming at take off immediately, but the rest of the teens only seem angry to see their leader down on the ground. None of them knows the first thing about fighting, but there are almost two dozen of them here, and sheer numbers make the fight more complicated than it should be. It doesn't help that one of the gang members manages to get ahold of the gun his leader had dropped, and starts firing wildly into the fight. Luckily, his aim is atrocious.

By the end of it, none of them are dead but Ezio and Edward are the only two left standing. Ezio is bleeding from a shallow cut on his forearm, and he spends a few minutes poking at it and checking to make sure it won't cause problems for him before they can get back to the safe house. He's just decided it's probably good enough for the walk back when he hears a triumphant "Ha!" from Edward, and looks up to see what kind of trouble the other assassin has managed to get into now. Then he groans.

"Really, Edward?" he says.

"Well, they weren't using all this paint stuff anymore," Edward points out. He's still holding the can in one hand, and his face is turned contemplatively toward the message he's scrawled out in red paint on the edge of the bridge. It's fairly succinct, managing to insult both the gang leader's mother and the size of his penis in an impressively small amount of words. Edward has helpfully dragged the leader to the side of the road, propped him up against the bridge support under his message, and added an arrow pointing from the words to the kid's head, just to make sure there's absolutely no confusion about whom his comment is meant for.

"Did you really have to?" Ezio asks.

"One of his guys did shoot me a little," Edward says, gesturing vaguely to his thigh. It's not bleeding all that badly, but Ezio still worries until he's walked over and assured himself that the bullet only grazed Edward.

"Edward—"

"I'm fine," Edward says, pushing Ezio away. Ezio frowns and pushes him back, which makes Edward stumble a bit on his shot up leg. "Alright," he admits. "Maybe I'm not fine."

"Come on." Ezio brings his arm across Edward's body, helping him stay upright as they start hobbling back toward the safe house. "Might as well get home and get the lecturing over with."

Edward sighs. "Haytham's going to kill me," he complains. "I asked him to come with me before I went looking for you, you know. But he said no, and we were just going to bring attention to ourselves—"

"That's exactly what I said!" Ezio protests.

"Yes, but you changed your mind!" He sighs and shakes his head. "He's going to be all disappointed in me now, and he'll start watching me to make sure I don't go leaving the house again, and—Ezio! Why are you laughing at me?"

"Because," Ezio says, beaming over at Edward. "You're the only man I've ever met that's worried about being grounded by their son."

Edward makes a rude hand gesture, but Ezio can't help noticing that he doesn't bother arguing, and that he's smiling a little as well. They're almost back at the house, when Edward makes a thoughtful noise. "Still," he says. "All in all, a pretty good outing. We should do it again sometime."


	10. Chapter 10

Desmond has no idea where Ezio and Edward have gone, but that doesn't stop his father from personally blaming him for their disappearance. It's a futile effort, but Desmond tries to cheer himself up by remembering that his dad doesn't know what the two of them are like. Not really. They'll be back, and then everything will be okay again.

And until then, Desmond will just... hide out in his room, and try not to think about how shitty he feels.

Desmond is lying on his back in bed, lion on his chest as he stares glumly up at the ceiling. He's pretty sure his dad had only shouted at him (loudly, and for nearly a quarter of an hour without pause) because he wouldn't dare shout at a couple of master assassins. If and when said master assassins come back.

His frown intensifies, and he brings his hand up to grip the lion. _Be brave, be brave…_

There's a knock on the door and Desmond rolls immediately off the bed, stowing his lion under the pile of clothes Ezio has left heaped there. He's not going to risk being mocked and called a child if it's his father at the door. Desmond has just enough time to make it back onto the bed, when Haytham walks in.

His eyes go to the pile of clothes on the floor, and Desmond flushes as he sees the lion’s tail poking out from under a pair of pants. Haytham sighs, then walks over to the side of the bed and bends down to pick up the lion. Instead of saying something, he simply raises his eyebrows.

"I—sorry," Desmond mumbles. "I thought you were…"

"William," Haytham finishes, when Desmond trails off. "I gathered." He sits down next to Desmond, resting the lion on his lap. It should look ridiculous there, misshapen and dirty, a sharp contrast to Haytham's dignified air. But it doesn't. "You know, Desmond," he says after a little pause. "This lion is very important to me, as well as to you."

"Why?"

Haytham smiles fondly at him, then down at the lion. "At the end of my life," he says. "There were times when I was very afraid. Of course, we all die. Sometimes it even sticks, although I can't say any of us have mastered that particular trick."

"No," Desmond agrees with a choked little laugh. "Not so much."

"But my point is," Haytham continues. "I was, at times, afraid to know that Connor would one day kill me." Desmond glances up at him, surprised. Although Haytham speaks with a straight face and an even tone, it's not hard to see that this is difficult for him to talk about. Desmond sits up to show he's paying attention, and watches as Haytham's hand moves to grip the lion tightly. "And on the nights when I was most afraid of what was to come, I looked at your lion, and remembered how brave you were."

"I'm not that brave," Desmond protests.

"Says the man that was willing to die to save the world," Haytham scoffs. "You are _brave_ , Desmond, and I don't want to hear any arguments."

"Okay," Desmond agrees, and Haytham nods at him before moving the lion firmly over to Desmond's lap.

"You have been through things that would traumatize anyone," Haytham says. "The animus, almost dying, losing your arm. Your father. The fact that you're not a gibbering mess after all that says a lot about you, but if you need something to hold onto, to comfort you…" Desmond moves his hand to the lion, and Haytham puts his own on top. Squeezes gently. "I don't think there's anything shameful about that. If William says anything about it, or tries to take it away, I will have _words_ with him."

"Thank you," Desmond says. "I just—thanks."

He's still enjoying the moment when the room starts to gradually get brighter, and Desmond blinks in confusion.

"What's going on?" Haytham asks, standing. He's not carrying any weapons (Rebecca and Shaun had been almost comically jumpy about being in a house with an armed templar grandmaster) but his whole body is a weapon in and of itself, and he looks ready to fight. "Is this some kind of technology I haven't seen yet?"

"I don't think so," Desmond says. "I mean—no. No, it's definitely not."

"Then what is it?"

"No idea." Desmond gets off the bed as well, leaving his lion safely perched on top of his pillow. Just in case. "Do you think it's dangerous?"

"I think I'd rather assume it is until proven wrong," Haytham says, which is when the light starts to coalesce around them into something solid. It's heavy when parts of it hit Desmond, and he cries out in surprise. Haytham stops what he's doing and immediately turns, wrapping his arms around Desmond, shielding him as the flecks of light get heavier around them.

Desmond makes absolutely no protest to this, and they stay huddled together until the light fades and the room around them calms.

"I think we're okay now," Desmond says softly and Haytham nods. He lets go of Desmond, but stays mostly in front of him, arms half raised, as if trying to shield him from any threats that might still be in the room.

Then he says, "Oh!" in a startled, but not entirely unhappy tone, and drops his arms. Desmond looks past him, _squeaks_ , and runs over to the bed to grab his lion before it can touch the naked man suddenly lying on the bed and still gently glowing. The others can laugh at him all they want, but he's never going to be able to sleep with his lion again if it gets any closer to another man's naked body. With the stuffed animal safely taken care of, he turns back to Haytham.

"Why is there a naked Shay in my bed?" he asks. "And why is he glowing?"

"Maybe this is what it looks like when we come back," Haytham says softly. "Did anyone actually see the rest of us arrive?"

"I don't think so," Desmond says. "I was in the room with Edward, but I was asleep. You were alone, and Ezio showed up while the rest of us were at the grocery store. But… well, Edward was asleep, but you or Ezio should have noticed."

"I was out cold," Haytham says. "I came to a few minutes before father arrived. I imagine Ezio came the same way." He bites his lip, apparently thinking hard. "You know, this really does make sense."

"Not the word I would have chosen," Desmond mutters.

Haytham brushes his objection away, nodding excitedly. "I remember," he says. "When my father died. I saw it happen. And when they killed him, just for a second I saw him standing behind his body. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but he looked younger, the age he was when he captained the Jackdaw. More or less the age he is now. And he had that same golden glow around him."

They both turn to stare at Shay, until the glow fades and he looks like any other naked man in the world. Desmond bites his lip, and tries to focus on just Shay's face. "Okay," he says. "So maybe the glowing part does make sense. Sort of. I'd still like to know where it came from in the first place. But why is Shay _naked_? Both of us were there when he died, he was definitely fully clothed then."

"That…" Haytham hesitates, then shakes his head. "That, I must admit I have no ideas about."

"Should we try waking him up?" Desmond asks.

"I suppose we should," Haytham says. But he makes no move toward Shay, and neither does Desmond.

"So…"

"Yes." Haytham gives an uncomfortable cough. "You see, the problem is that to wake him, one of us is going to have to touch him."

"Where's Ezio when you need him?" Desmond complains. "Or Edward. Either one of them would do it. They'd make everything ten times more awkward, but at least Shay would be awake." He knows he certainly doesn’t want to get too close to Shay just now. And he can’t imagine Haytham has any particular interest in the other templar’s naked body, either.

"Hmm." Haytham cups his hands around his mouth and shouts Shay's name. Thankfully, this works wonderfully, so that Shay shouts and tumbles off the bed.

"Aveline!"

Because of _course_ that would be the first word out of his mouth, Desmond thinks. It's only too bad that they'll have to tell him she's not back yet. Between visiting and their actual, in person relationship, he doesn't think Shay and Aveline have been truly apart in decades. Not the way they are now.

Shay blinks, shaking his head and clambering awkwardly onto all fours—he tries to stand, but his legs shake under him and he falls back down to one knee. Haytham makes a soft noise and sits in front of Shay.

"Shay," he says, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"S-sir?" Shay manages. He looks like he's shivering, and Desmond isn't sure if it's from cold or shock. Either way, he starts hunting around the room for clothes to throw over to Shay. If he's cold, the clothes will help him. Even if he's not, the clothes will help Desmond.

"Are you alright?" Haytham prompts.

"Confused," Shay says. His eyes flick from Haytham to Desmond, and then to the room around them. "Where are we?"

"An assassin safe house," Haytham says, and Shay tenses at once. "It's fine, Shay. Desmond and his people are here."

"Hey," Desmond says.

"My father and Ezio are here as well," Haytham goes on calmly. Then he pauses. "Well, they're not technically _here_ , here, at the moment as they’ve wandered off, but…" He shakes his head. "Never mind. You know how they are."

"Where's Aveline?" Shay asks, and Haytham squeezes his arm a little.

"She hasn't come back yet," he explains gently.

" _No_ …" Shay says, a sad little sound.

"It's alright," Haytham says. His voice is still serenely calm, and Desmond admires him for that. "There's no reason to think she won't be back, Shay. And I'm sure she'll be just as eager to see you as you are to see her. And then you'll both make enough noise to keep the rest of us awake all night, just like old times."

Shay very nearly smiles, and Desmond decides it's safe enough to come over and offer Shay the scrounged up clothes. Haytham glances over at him, and then looks back at Shay, grinning. "We can put the two of you next to William Miles," he suggests. "I think he deserves a few sleepless nights."

Shay starts to slowly pull on the clothes, fingers clumsy and uncertain. He manages it in the end, though, and the shaking slowly fades as Haytham continues talking to him. "I don't mean to be such a mess," he says when he's fully dressed.

"Understandable," Haytham says. "I know you were ill when you died."

"True." Shay flexes his fingers, staring down at them. "Nice to be young again." Desmond thinks Shay looks about the age he had been the first time he had visited him and Aveline… _together_ in a cave. Actually, he's almost certain Shay must be the exact same age—that image has been branded across his mind for years now, and it's usually the first thing he thinks of when he thinks of Shay. Still, it doesn't seem like a great thing to mention just now.

"Do you want something to eat?" he offers.

"I—" Shay's stomach growls, and he laughs. Desmond and Haytham glance at each other, both smiling. Good—so Shay can still laugh, even without Aveline. "Yes," he says firmly. "I would love some real food. I haven't had anything solid to eat since before I got sick."

"You've come to the wrong century if you want real food," Haytham scoffs. He stands up, and offers Shay his hand to pull the younger man onto his feet as well.

"They don't eat in the twenty first century?" Shay asks. He and Haytham start walking slowly out of the room.

"We eat!" Desmond protests, following them.

"Shay," Haytham says, with the air of a man about to tell a truly terrifying story. "Let me tell you about _microwave dinners_."


	11. Chapter 11

Edward had hated being in trouble when he was a kid; it had been the disappointed look his mother gave him that really did it, and sometimes Edward thinks this is why he ended up as a pirate. International laws and pirate hunters just don't scare him as much as that disappointed look from his mother.

It turns out that Haytham has inherited that look.

Edward and Ezio are sitting side by side at the kitchen table, while Haytham stands on the other side with his arms crossed, glaring at them. Ezio looks only vaguely flustered, but Edward feels like he's four years old again, and his mother is waiting for an explanation for the sheep dung all over his one good pair of shoes.

"So," Haytham says.

Edward flinches.

"We only went out to get some fresh air," Ezio says.

"And somehow you got my father shot in the process," Haytham points out.

"Well, yes," Ezio admits. "But it's not like we were planning on doing that!"

Haytham sighs, and runs an exhausted hand over his face. "We're meant to be keeping a low profile here!"

"Yes, well." William comes into the room (and his glare can't even hold a candle to the one Haytham is levelling at Edward). "Not any more."

"We're not leaving just because of that, are we?" Edward asks. He legitimately hadn't meant to mess things up for anyone else.

"We're leaving because now that we have another new addition—"

"What?" Ezio asks.

"Who?" Edward demands.

"There's definitely not enough space in this building," William goes on, ignoring their questions. "And besides, I hear you all have decided on some suicide rescue mission."

"Subject eighteen," Haytham corrects. "And I don't think any of us plan on it being suicidal." Edward sighs a little in relief as Haytham turns his gaze onto William. "If you cannot see how important this is—"

"I can," William interrupts. "But that doesn't mean it isn't dangerous."

"Of course it is,” Haytham says briskly. “A great many of the things worth doing in life are dangerous.”

"And I _did_ have a point," William continues, a bit testily. "Which is that as long as you all have yourselves set on this rescue mission, we might as well relocate up to Madison. That's where the girl is, after all."

"Really?" Haytham asks. "That's—surprisingly human of you."

William grunts like Haytham has just insulted him, and leaves the room without another word. Haytham turns back to Edward and Ezio. He looks much less upset now. "Well," he says, dropping into an empty chair. "This is good."

"I'm going to go tell Desmond," Ezio says, half rising from his chair. "If I can be excused from the lecture?"

Haytham nods. "Go, he'll be ecstatic. Just make sure and tell him before William gets a chance to ruin things."

Ezio scuttles away, and Haytham looks back at Edward. "Are you badly hurt?" he asks.

"Not really."

"You're bleeding." Haytham moves to the other side of the kitchen and before long he has managed to find a first aid kit in a cabinet. That's one of the good things about living in an assassin safe house, after all. It's a basic assumption that people will be injured and need to be sewn back up at some point. He comes back and points at the chair Ezio has just left. "Put your leg up there."

Edward winces as he does what he's told, but Haytham's hands are very gentle as he begins wrapping bandages around the place where the bullet had grazed Edward's leg. "It could have been worse," Edward says.

"True," Haytham says. "But I'm concerned with the fact that you've only left the house twice since we got back here, and you've already managed to get yourself shot."

"There was some arsehole threatening a couple of kids," Edward mutters. "What were we supposed to do, let _them_ get shot instead?"

"No, of course not," Haytham says. "But I know you could have taken them out quietly, without being shot. Since you _were_ shot—" he prods the injury a little harder than is strictly necessary, and Edward winces. "I feel safe in assuming that you were showing off."

Edward focuses on keeping his face impassive. "Of course not."

"Really?"

"Really," Edward lies, with as much conviction as he can manage. He just wants Haytham to calm down, to stop looking at him with that expression he'd somehow gotten from his grandmother. "Sometimes things just happen, you know?"

"Good," Haytham says. His voice is warmer than it has been so far, like he's finally starting to get over Edward coming home injured. "Not that you were injured, of course. But I'm glad you didn’t go out looking for trouble."

Edward smiles a little. Things are looking up.

William chooses this moment to come back into the room, carrying what looks like a printed picture. It's too far away for Edward to make out what it is, but William doesn't look happy about it. He very pointedly doesn't say anything, just leaves the picture on the table between Edward and Haytham and walks away.

Haytham grabs it first, and stares for a second. Then he slams the picture back down in front of Edward, so he can see it first. Edward winces—it's a grainy, black and white picture (it looks like it comes from what Desmond calls a surveillance camera) of what he'd painted on the wall under the bridge, complete with the gang leader still slumped over and unconscious. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't get the chance to get so much as a word out before Haytham starts shouting.

"Is this your idea of not showing off?" he demands.

"Haytham, you have to understand—"

"Because this looks pretty damn showy to me!"

"It was just a little bit of fun!" Edward protests. "No one saw what I did!"

"No," Haytham says, with an absolutely scathing amount of sarcasm. "Just whatever camera took this picture, and anyone with access to that camera. Just law enforcement, when they find the message you painted in _enormous letters_. You do realize how paint works, father, don't you? It tends to stick around for a while."

"Sure," Edward says. "But it's not like I signed my name or anything."

"Not this time," Haytham says. "But the fact that you are consistently and horrifyingly careless is just…" He stops speaking for a moment, apparently lost for words. It is a rare sight, coming from a man that can fight as well with his words as he can with his blades, and that’s what really tells Edward he’s messed up.

He's disappointed, Edward can see it as plain as day on Haytham's face. "It's not that big of a deal," he protests feebly. "They deserved it, and it was just a little fun."

"You're not some—some stupid pirate anymore," Haytham says. "You're an assassin, or so you say. And this isn't a ship in the middle of the ocean, this isn't even our time! I thought even you would know to keep unnoticed until we understand this time better. I thought you were better than this. I… _wanted_ to believe that you weren't the same immature man I first met as a visitor. I wanted to believe that you had grown up. Matured, even a little. But you're the same child you always were, and you must have known that what you did was wrong, because you went and lied to me about it. And you did it anyway." He stands, giving Edward a withering look of absolute disappointment, and heads for the door.

"Hayth—Haytham!" He raises his voice, shouting after his son. But it's no good. Haytham has already left. "Damn!" Edward hits the table and then swears again when it makes his hand hurt. He hadn't meant to drive Haytham away, he hadn't been trying to do anything at all. He'd just… thought it was funny.

"Oh! There you are."

Edward looks up at the (not entirely convincing) expression of surprise on Rebecca's face as she peeks into the room. She must have heard Haytham and Edward shouting at each other. Everyone must have heard them, they hadn't exactly been quiet. Still, if Rebecca doesn't want to talk about it… well, neither does Edward, really.

"Yep," he says. It's surprisingly easy to make his voice sound normal and cheerful. "Here I am."

"So we're moving out," Rebecca says. "Maybe you've heard. And there's not much to pack, but if you're not bleeding too much—" She gestures vaguely to his injury.

"I'd love to help," Edward says quickly. Anything to stay busy. And for the next several hours, that's exactly what happens. They don't pack up everything in the house, choosing instead to leave most things behind for whatever assassins next need the place. But it still takes a while to pack up the essentials, and somehow Edward doesn't see Haytham at all during that time. He sees Ezio, who looks sympathetic, and Desmond, who looks nervous. And he even sees Shay, who looks confused. Edward hadn't even known Shay had come back.

"How are we getting to…" Edward makes a face, trying to remember the name of the place where Abstergo has Eighteen.

"Wisconsin," Rebecca prompts. "And we're taking a van."

"All of us?" Edward asks. "Together?"

"Yep."

"Oh. How long is it going to take to get there?"

"Most of the night," Rebecca says, and Edward sighs.

"All of us stuck in a van together for that long?” he asks glumly, and Rebecca swats him on the back of the arm.

"I thought you all liked each other," she says.

"We do."

"So what's the problem?"

"I just… don't want to…" He looks helplessly at Rebecca. "Haytham."

"Ah."

"You must have heard the shouting earlier."

She nods. "It was hard to miss."

"So there you go!" Edward says. "Everything's ruined."

"What?" Rebecca sort of squints sideways at him like she's suddenly suspicious that they're not quite having the same conversation. "You can't tell me this is the first fight the two of you have ever had."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that—I mean, everyone fights with their parents. I kind of figured that with all the time travel and the whole 'he's a templar, you're an assassin' thing you two would fight more than usual."

Edward shrugs. "This isn't just a fight," he says. "Haytham's _disappointed_ in me."

He must look really pathetic as he says it, because Rebecca pats him on the back and looks extremely sympathetic as she grabs her last load to take out to the van. Edward sighs and picks up his own box, then follows her.

Everyone else is packed inside already, along with the dozen or so boxes they apparently can't leave behind. William and Shaun have the front seats, so the rest of them are crammed in shoulder to shoulder on the two benchlike seats in the back. Desmond and Haytham are sitting next to one another on one seat (Haytham won't look at Edward, and Desmond looks almost as uncomfortable as he does when people start undressing). Shay sits directly across from Haytham, with Ezio next to him. It's dead quiet, and no one looks like they're planning on starting a conversation anytime soon.

Rebecca climbs in and sits next to Desmond, which leaves Edward to sit next to Ezio. He's just about as far away from Haytham as he can possibly get, sitting here, and he's not sure if that makes things more or less awkward.

The van rolls into motion, and they start the journey into Wisconsin. Wherever that is. Edward's almost positive it didn't exist in the 1700s.

"This is stupid!" Desmond bursts after half an hour of silence.

"Desmond," Shay hisses. "Do you really want to do this now?"

"Yes," Desmond insists.

"I don't," Haytham says curtly, and Desmond flinches. Still, he doesn't back down.

"You're both too stubborn to listen to each other, except now you're stuck in the same van and neither of you can walk out of the conversation. So just talk to each other now and get over this stupid fight and be friends again!"

For a minute, there is nothing but awkward silence. Desmond ducks his (bright red) face and stares at the van’s floor. Edward wants to say something, but every thought that pops into his head sounds immature and stupid. He doesn't want to make things worse.

Haytham sighs at last, and makes that awkward throat clearing sound that means he doesn't want to say anything at all. But he does. "Father," he says stiffly. "I… regret what I said to you earlier. And I apologize."

"Good!" Ezio looks very relieved that someone has finally said something, and points to Edward. "Your turn."

Shite. He doesn't want a turn. "Um…"

"Come on," Ezio encourages. "Talk about your feelings."

"I shouldn't have let Ezio convince me to leave the safe house,” Edward says. Ezio frowns at him and shakes his head-- _fine_. “I’m sorry _I_ convinced _Ezio_ to leave the safe house. And I’m sorry I painted rude things on the walls. I didn’t mean to upset you. Or get shot. I just don't like being trapped inside all the time, and I wanted to do something. Maybe I was acting immaturely, but I can try to be better, if it bothers you." He looks at Haytham, and finds his son looking back at him. "I don't actually _want_ to bother you, or disappoint you."

" _Dad_ ," Haytham says. He sounds almost exasperated, which is better than angry or stiff like he had been earlier, so Edward takes this as progress. "I know what kind of person you are." There is a moment of silence, and Edward assumes they're both thinking about all the times Haytham had visited him, before Edward knew who Hat Man really was. God, the things he'd seen…

"I'm sorry," Edward says at last. "For everything. I can try to be better. I can."

"No! That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what _are_ you saying?"

"That you are immature," Haytham says. "You are a child, you are irresponsible, and you have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever."

"Oh. So… you _are_ still mad at me?"

"I'm saying that's the way you are," Haytham says firmly. "And it terrifies me when you go out and do things like what you did today, and put yourself in danger. I don't want to lose you again."

"You won't," Edward promises.

"Good." Haytham sighs. "I like you the way you are, dad, I really do. Just… do try not to get yourself killed. And please. Don't lie to me again."

"I won't." A rush of warmth seems to shoot up Edward, like being drunk but better. Haytham isn't mad at him anymore. Nothing else (not the incessant bumping of the road, not William's running complaints about the "melodramatic soap opera" in his backseat) matters.

And onward they go, to Wisconsin.


	12. Chapter 12

This safe house is much larger than the last one, Haytham notes with approval. Shaun tells them while they're moving in that it used to be a warehouse, and that the assassins had quietly bought the entire building when the previous owner declared bankruptcy. It's still in relatively good repair, and the assassins have significantly upgraded the building's security (well, either that or Haytham has no idea what normal security looks like in the twenty first century. But the cameras and sensors here certainly seem excessive).

The ground floor is taller than Haytham is used to, and stuffed full of boxes. According to the labels, they're full of just about everything a group of people could possibly need to live. Some of them seem obvious—various dried foods, an assortment of weapons—but there are also many boxes with names Haytham doesn't even recognize.

Upstairs, there's a large open space that looks like it had once been used as a common staff area but has since been repurposed. There are a variety of workstations on a mismatched set of tables, as well as a couple of couches and a tiny kitchen. Haytham is disappointed to see it's mostly just a couple of microwaves and a quietly rattling refrigerator. He really doesn't like microwave dinners.

This floor also has eight or ten old offices surrounding the common area, and a quick glance inside a few of them shows Haytham that they've also been converted, set up with beds and a few other conveniences. It's not a bad place, all told, and there are enough rooms here to allow everyone to have their own space. They badly need the extra room, although Haytham can admit to himself that he will miss waking up in the same room as his father. Not that Edward would want to sleep in the same room as him anyway, not after the argument they'd had earlier in the day. He's seen enough in his life to know that just because they've talked it over and forgiven one another doesn't mean it's been forgotten.

William takes the room with the word _manager_ on the door, because of course he does. Haytham glances over at Desmond just in time to see the younger man roll his eyes, but none of them says anything. It's not worth the effort.

"So," Ezio says. "Who wants the room next to his?"

"No one," Desmond mutters.

"I'll fall on the sword," Shaun says with a sigh when no one else volunteers. He looks glum until he realizes that Rebecca is following him, and that she doesn't seem to have any intention of leaving. Then he looks quite a lot happier.

And that just leaves the five visitors to figure out where they want to be. Desmond looks around at all the rooms and shrugs. "Does anyone have a preference?" he asks.

"They all look pretty much the same to me," Ezio says. "But I think Shay should be in that one." And he points to a room as far removed from the others as possible.

"Why?" Shay asks, looking more than a little affronted.

But Haytham knows where he's going with this. "Because eventually Aveline will show up," he says. "And then we all want as much empty space as possible between your room and the rest of ours."

Shay opens his mouth. Closes it. Nods abashedly. "Fine," he agrees. "I'll take that room."

Ezio picks a room at random after Shay has disappeared into his, and Haytham starts to move toward another one. It's not until he's actually at the door that he realizes Edward is hot on his heels. "Sorry," he says. He clears his throat nervously. "Did you want this one?"

"No," Edward says. He looks startled. "I mean, not particularly. I just assumed we were going to stay together."

"Did you want to?"

"Unless you don't."

"I mean—I suppose I do. If you do."

"Well I do if you—Desmond! Stop laughing."

Desmond does _not_ stop laughing. He just takes the room next to the one Haytham and Edward are standing in front of, ducking quickly out of the conversation. Haytham looks again at his father. "You're sure?"

"How else are you going to make sure I don't do anything too stupid?" Edward asks. And even though he's smiling, Haytham thinks there's some sincerity to the question. "I'm… not that great with self-control."

And well no, he's not. It's a good enough excuse for Haytham, anyway, who had never been as happy as he had been in the first ten years of his life, when he still lived at home with his father. Maybe the novelty of waking up in the same room as his father ( who is safe and alive and even… _relatively_ sane) will wear off at some point. But certainly not anytime soon. "Alright," he says. "But we're not sharing a bed. I'll pull one of the couches in here."

Edward sighs (dramatically). "I'm a good cuddler," he says. "Ask Desmond." He disappears into their room, and Haytham catches himself looking wistfully after his father. He has no doubt that his father is, to use the man's own term, 'a good cuddler.' Desmond likes it after all, and it _must_ be nice if Desmond is willing to share a bed with another man. But Haytham doesn't remember ever having that for himself, and now it's too late to ask. He shakes his head, sharply, and contents himself with thinking that his father must have held him when he was small, even if he can't remember it anymore. That will have to be enough.

He heads back into the main room to look at the couches, and after a minute or two Shay comes out and sits on one of them. He looks nervous, which oddly enough is almost a relief. Haytham would much rather deal with someone else's problems than his own at the moment. He makes a show of inspecting the couches, trying to figure out which one will be more tolerable to sleep on in the long run, and waits for Shay to say something. They haven't been alone together since Shay came back, and Haytham is horribly aware that the last interaction he'd had with Shay had been a lot more… physical than he's used to. Hopefully Shay will have the sense to _never ever bring that up again_ , but Haytham still catches himself holding his breath anxiously. 

"Is this alright?" Shay blurts at last, leaning forward slightly. "Living with assassins like this?"

Haytham sits down across from him, and considers how best to answer the question. At least Shay hadn't mentioned that night. "I understand," he says at last. "That this must be a difficult transition for you."

"Well…" Shay shrugs and nods at the same time. "Yes. I mean, this time yesterday I was an old man. I was sick, I was _dying_." He frowns, and Haytham can't help feeling for him. The memory of one's own death is a hard thing to live with. "But I had my family with me, and I knew where I stood. Then all of a sudden I'm waking up in the future, in an assassin's safe house, and everyone's talking about some girl we need to go rescue, and then we're moving—"

"Yes," Haytham sighs. "I suppose we really should have given you more time with all of this."

"I just want to know one thing," Shay insists. "The rest can all wait, but are we safe here?"

Haytham thinks of William, and his obvious distrust. But William is only one man. Desmond's friends seem only wary, and they're slowly warming up. Shay knows—and trusts—the rest of their visitors as well as Haytham does, of course. "We are safe," Haytham says, after giving the question the full consideration it deserves.

"And do we _want_ to be here?" Shay goes on. "That's the next question. I've been married to an assassin for years, but Aveline and I know better than to try and change each other. She will never be a templar, and I cannot go back to being an assassin. I don't know if the people here will understand that."

"Neither do I," Haytham admits. "I think our visitors will understand—they've known us for so long by now, after all. But Desmond's father—" And those words almost burn his tongue as they come out. He knows that he has Desmond's loyalty and his… affections (Haytham doesn't dare even _think_ the word love. Partly because it sounds sappy, but mostly because he doesn't want to be wrong). But William is truly Desmond's father, technically speaking.

Desmond had called Haytham _father_ only once, when he had taken over the body of an ill Connor. Haytham wishes he'd say it more.

Then he wishes he could just stop thinking about fathers and sons for a few minutes. Between Edward and Desmond, Haytham feels extremely confused by now. At least Connor isn't here yet. Haytham isn't sure how he'd deal with him on top of everyone else.

He realizes Shay is staring impatiently at him, waiting for him to go on. "William may raise difficulties," Haytham says, forcing himself to start speaking again. "But he doesn't seem ready to make an issue out of it quite yet, and I don't think we know enough about this century to find another place in it."

"I don't want to," Shay says. "All our visitors are here, or _will_ be here. I'm just… concerned."

"It's good to be cautious," Haytham says. "And I agree—it would be nice to be able to stay here in the long term."

"Any chance we could chase William away?" Shay asks hopefully. "Then I wouldn't be so worried."

"We'll work on it," Haytham laughs, and he's not entirely sure if he's serious. "Now help me drag this couch into the room, will you?"

Shay agrees readily enough, and as the two of them work, Haytham catches him up with as much detail as he can manage. Edward is sitting up in bed when the two of them get in with the couch.

"Thanks for the help," Shay says, and Edward gives him that familiar, shit eating grin.

"You two looked like you had it covered," Edward says cheerfully. "Why, do you need help?"

"Not now that we've got it inside," Haytham says. "Thank you, Shay."

Shay nods and waves vaguely at the pair of them. "I'm going to sleep for about a week," he says.

"Old man!" Edward calls after him, but Shay just makes a face and keeps going. He must really be exhausted. When he's gone, Haytham sits down on the couch and looks nervously at Edward. He feels like he should say something, but he's not really sure what. Edward's _still_ lying in bed, and a part of Haytham (the part of him that keeps thinking about being Edward's son, and Desmond's… almost father, and wishing that _damn it all_ , he could just get one of those things right) wants to get in bed too.

But he can't say anything, he just doesn't have the words, so he stares at Edward in silence.

"What?" Edward asks. "Is there something on my face?"

"You're fine."

"No, really!" Edward scrambles off the bed and hurries toward the mirror on the back wall. "Don't let me walk around with something stupid on my face!"

"But there isn't anything—"

"Is it gone now?" Edward asks, rubbing at some imagined spot and ignoring Haytham completely.

Haytham sighs. "Yes," he says. "You got it off, you're good now."

"Great." Edward sits down on the couch next to Haytham. They are very close, and Haytham stiffens a little. He should say something (is "Dad, I need you to hug me" too abrupt?). He should.

The door opens just as Haytham opens his mouth, and Desmond comes rushing in. "Hey!" he calls, sitting down on Haytham's other side. "Look, Clay's sending me more information about Eighteen. Like, the building they have her in, and the security there—we have enough information to figure out how we're going to get in now, we don't have to wait anymore."

"That's great, Desmond," Haytham says, and he leans over to see what Desmond's showing him on his phone. For a while, Desmond chatters on about everything Clay's given him, and when the conversation peters out, Haytham is surprised to realize he's wrapped his arm around Desmond's shoulders, pulling him closer. No sooner has he become consciously aware of this, than the whole thing starts to make him nervous (because what if it's making Desmond uncomfortable? He doesn't want to be pushy. Or—or maybe he's simply overthinking things today). He pulls away a little, but Desmond stops him.

"What are you doing?" he whispers. "You'll wake Edward up."

"What?" Haytham turns and looks to his other side, and sure enough, there is his father. Passed out and drooling onto Haytham's shoulder. "Well," Haytham says. "Alright then." He squeezes Desmond a little. "So finish what you were saying, about Eighteen."

But he's still distracted by the feeling of being sandwiched between Edward and Desmond, and maybe Desmond senses that. Or maybe he's tired as well, after their all night drive. Either way, he soon shuts off his phone and leans farther sideways into Haytham. He yawns, and his eyes drift closed as he falls asleep.

Well.

Desmond is snoring softly, Edward is still drooling, and Haytham can't move so much as an inch without waking one of them.

It's perfect.


	13. Chapter 13

Desmond insists they start making plans to go after Eighteen as soon as everyone's had a full night's rest (and, Ezio notices, as soon as William has gone out somewhere for the day). He assembles everyone in the common area, or at least tries to. Shaun comes out of his room without Rebecca, looking exasperated. "She's working on something," he grumbles. "No clue what, but she refuses to come out until she's done with it."

"Oh." Desmond looks taken aback, but then shrugs. "Well I guess, since all the rest of us are here, we can get started and catch Rebecca up when she gets out. Okay. So." He takes a deep breath, and starts spreading out papers on the table he's moved into the middle of the group. "These are the blocks around the building where Abstergo is holding Eighteen." He points to the first set of papers. "It's a pretty dense area, which helps us."

"Why?" Edward asks.

"Because I know that if I'd told you the only way to get close to the building was from the ground, you would all complain and then try to climb things anyway."

"There's always something to climb," Edward says.

"Well, yea," Desmond says. "Technically. But you must have noticed cities aren't laid out the same way that they were even a hundred years ago or so. Buildings are spaced farther apart, because we have to have these ridiculously wide streets, so you can't exactly jump from one building to another. Unless, for example, you're looking at an unusually dense area like this one."

"That's convenient," Haytham says. "Almost suspiciously convenient. Why wouldn't they want to make it harder for enemies to get at their building?"

"Well—" Shaun gets up, and squints at the map. "First of all, most assassins don't go around climbing things anymore. It's inconvenient."

"Your life must be so boring if you think that," Edward complains.

"And anyway, this isn't one of their main locations," Shaun goes on, flushing red. "They don't even own the whole building, just the top three floors."

"There are twelve floors under them," Desmond adds. "And those are rented out by a bunch of other businesses. There's some lawyers, an advertising firm, three or four consulting places…" he shrugs. "Nothing too threatening—"

"You did say lawyers," Haytham says darkly.

"Okay," Desmond allows. "Nothing too threatening except lawyers. But it does make things harder for us, because if any kind of big fight breaks out, those people are probably going to be caught in the crossfire."

"So we go in at night," Ezio says. "Everyone will have gone home."

"Except for the twenty four hour clinic on the ninth floor," Desmond says. "And the international business firm with the main branch in Shanghai. And anyone that happens to work as a night guard, or a janitor. Or anyone working late, or—"

"Alright, alright," Ezio grumbles. "So a night approach doesn't do anything for us."

"It actually makes things harder," Desmond says. "During the day, there's about two dozen guards and a few automated alarms. At night, there's eight guards, and most of the security system switches to computers. It'll be easier to get past humans, especially since most of you can't even turn a computer on. No offense."

"So what is the plan?" Shay asks.

"I don't know," Desmond says. Ezio can hear the frustration in his voice. "We know they're keeping Eighteen on the fourteenth floor. That means they have an entire floor under her and an entire floor on top. Her cell's in the dead center of that floor too, which means we can't get in through a window or anything."

"So it'll be difficult," Haytham says. "I'm sure we all guessed that already. We'll get her out."

"I just don't know how," Desmond says, frowning down at his mess of papers. "I've been going over and over this stuff since Clay sent it to me, but the problem is that he can’t access all their computers and things because he's just on the internet."

"So?" Ezio asks. "I thought the internet was where all the computers lived."

Shaun groans and shakes his head. "As soon as this is over," he says. "And I mean the next day. We're doing a crash course on computers."

"They're for cat videos," Edward says, and Haytham nods knowingly.

"Crash course," Shaun repeats. "We'll get Rebecca to help with it, she's great with computers."

Desmond glances again at Shaun and Rebecca's room. There's still no sign of her. "Well," he says. "Anyway, Ezio, a lot of computers are connected to the internet. The problem is that Abstergo's aren't. Their computers are connected to each other, but not to anything else. It's kind of a miracle Clay's been able to find as much as he has-- most of what he's gotten hold of is from emails the senders were too sloppy to protect correctly."

"So what you're saying is… we know nothing," Edward says. "Okay, that's fine. I never know anything before I start."

Desmond looks pained. "But if we mess up, we're not the only ones that can get hurt. There's everyone else in the building, and there's also Eighteen. They might not kill her, if whatever's in her DNA is important enough, but they'll definitely move her. Probably somewhere with even more security. We have to get this right the first time."

"I have a question," Haytham says. "And I'm sorry, but you're not going to like it, Desmond."

"What?"

"Might it be better to wait, instead of going after Eighteen right away?"

Ezio winces at the shocked expression on Desmond's face. "But… why wouldn't we?"

"I'm not saying we won't get her out at all," Haytham says quickly. "Obviously we will. It's just that you said yourself that we don't know enough about what we're walking into. To me, it seems like the safest strategy would be to go in once, get the lay of the land, plant some of those camera things, and then come back and make a plan."

"But…" Desmond sighs, shoulders slumping.

"It's not a bad plan," Ezio says. He tries to keep his voice kind, because Desmond sounds miserable at being told they have to wait. "I mean, Desmond, listen. We don't even have a safe route out of the building planned, and that's the one thing I think we really need. We can improvise getting to Eighteen, we can even improvise breaking her out of the cell, but I can't think of a good way to carry a little girl out of that building. We're either going to have to go over the roofs—which will be difficult while carrying a toddler—or we'll have to carry her out through the main part of the building."

"Which will be hard if she's panicking and upset," Desmond mumbles. "Which she _will_ be, almost definitely." He sighs in resignation. "Alright, then. We'll go in the first time to do surveillance only."

"I have something that can help with that," Rebecca says cheerfully, finally joining the rest of them in the common area. "Check it out." She drops something small and metallic onto the table, and everyone leans forward to get a better look. It's barely three inches across, made of a smooth, unremarkable metal.

"But what is it?" Ezio asks. To him, it looks like some unholy cross between an insect and a computer.

"It's called a drone," Rebecca says.

"Oh!" Desmond says. "But—how's that going to help?"

"And what exactly _is_ a drone?" Shay adds.

"It's a little plane, sort of," Rebecca says. "You know planes?"

"Oh yes," Shay says firmly.

"Well, drones fly around like planes," Rebecca says. "But most of the time, you need someone controlling it at a distance."

"Most of the time?" Haytham echoes.

"I built this one myself," Rebecca says proudly. "Based on what I've seen from the way Clay works."

"Clay?" Ezio asks.

She nods enthusiastically. "He's basically pure data right now," she says. "If he moves part of himself onto the drone's operating system, he'll be able to move it around on his own."

"Will he still be able to talk to us on the phones and computers and whatever?" Ezio asks. "Or does the drone talk, too?"

"Drones don't talk," Rebecca assures him. "There are cameras and microphones hooked up to this, but no speakers. But there's no reason he can't be in the drone and talking to us from a computer at the same time. He's on the internet, you know? He can be in more than one machine at a time."

"This is great," Desmond says enthusiastically. "For Clay, obviously, but for us too. If he can stay behind in the building, that gives us a perfect pair of eyes inside. He can show us everything that's going on, and if he's caught, it's not like they can hurt him."

"And the batteries lasted over a week when I tested them," Rebecca says. "They could go even longer, if he’s careful. The data goes out on an encrypted network—it's basically the perfect spy, especially with Clay running it instead of an AI." She tries and fails to look modest about her invention. Although to be fair, it is pretty impressive.

"As long as he's okay with it," Ezio adds. Because Clay should get a say in this, it's only fair.

Desmond nods, already pulling out his phone, presumably to text Clay.

"So is that all we need to talk about?" Edward asks. "I mean, if our plan is basically 'oops we don't have a plan, let's go figure out how to make one'?"

"Except for the date," Desmond says, glancing back up from his phone. "As soon as possible."

"Two days from now," Shaun says. "How about that? It'll give us enough time to sort through the weapons in storage downstairs and figure out what you guys want to take."

"And…" Everyone turns to look at Haytham, who is in turn looking at Desmond. "We'll need to tell your father."

"But I don't want to tell him," Desmond complains. "He'll mess it up."

"Well, he's not invited," Edward says. "So there."

"Dad's never invited anywhere," Desmond says. "He invites himself."

"This time he won't," says Edward. "Hey, Shaun, can we look at the weapons now, or do we have to wait?"

"I suppose we can go look now," Shaun says. "We—hey!" But it's too late for protests. Edward has already grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him downstairs, chattering excitedly about blades.

Haytham looks after them, an expression of frank amusement on his face. "Do you think Shaun will appreciate it if I go rescue him?"

"I think he just might be able to overcome his natural distrust of templars in this case," Ezio laughs. Haytham nods and starts to follow Shaun and his father downstairs, but Ezio grabs him by the arm before he can go more than a few feet. "Hey," he says in a whisper. "Try to keep your father away from any modern guns, alright? He's already managed to get himself shot once, I don't want to know what will happen if they have any of those machine gun things down there."

"I don't think we've ever been in such complete agreement," Haytham says seriously, and Ezio lets him continue downstairs.

"So how do we know when Clay is in this thing?" Shay asks, crouching over the drone. "What—ow!" He flies back, wincing and holding a hand to the side of his head where the drone had hit him. "Little bugger doesn't like me."

Desmond smiles and checks his phone. "He says it was an accident," he reports. "And also that your face was in the way."

"I'll show him _in the way_ ," Shay grumbles, but he doesn't seem to mean it. He's staring at the drone—at Clay—with the same amazement that's on everyone else's face. The little machine buzzes around the room, first jerking back and forth, then turning in wide, controlled spirals. Like Clay is testing the thing out, seeing what this thing can do.

In the end, it (he?) settles on Ezio's shoulder, vibrating in what Ezio decides to interpret as excitement. And he doesn't leave, not for the rest of the day, just buzzes around after Ezio wherever he goes. It's like having a hummingbird for a shadow.

And Ezio can't really say he minds.


	14. Chapter 14

Shay is not exactly disappointed that William Miles takes so long in returning, but he is a little surprised. When he asks Haytham about it, the grandmaster merely shrugs helplessly and explains that this is not the first time William has gone off without any kind of explanation.

"He really doesn't tell anyone?" Shay had asked at the time. "No one at all?"

"Not unless someone is keeping very quiet about it," Haytham says. "I'm sure none of us knows where he is."

"And by 'none of us,' you mean none of us visitors, right?" Shay asks.

"Of course," Haytham agrees. "I suppose Rebecca or Shaun might be in his confidences, but they certainly seem as confused as all the rest of us. And I don't think either of them is an exceptionally good actor."

"So why does he just leave?" Shay asks.

"Well," Haytham says. "If we knew that…"

And as no one knows anything, there seems no point in bringing it up again. The next two days fly past, and soon they're busy making last minute preparations to go in after Eighteen. It's a bit chaotic—extremely chaotic, honestly—and into this mess comes William Miles. He comes in as bold as anything, as if he hadn't walked out over two days ago without so much as a word of explanation. If anything, he almost looks like a man that had just stepped out to run an errand, and has now returned.

Shay is on the first floor when William comes in. He's alone, trying to fight back his nerves about going on this mission. It's stupid to be nervous, really, but it has been a long time since he's been able to do anything. During the last few years of his life, his traitorous body had kept him from doing anything like this, and he's worried that he might be out of practice.

Besides, he misses Jeanne. When she was a little girl, and Shay and Aveline were still going on missions as needed, Jeanne used to cry every time Shay left. To calm her, Shay got into the habit of sitting down with her just before he leaves, and telling her about the places he was going, the people he would see, spinning everything so it sounded like an adventure instead of something dangerous. When she was older, he'd started to drop in a few details about what he did when he went out on templar business. And when she decided to join the order herself, they'd sat down for long, detailed discussions about what he was doing and why it was important.

Now that Jeanne isn't here, Shay feels like he's missing something important. An important part of his routine is missing, and he doesn't feel _ready_ for this.

And the last person Shay wants to see while he's sitting here, missing Jeanne, is William Miles. But, well—here he is.

"What are you doing here?" William demands of Shay. His tone is derisive and dismissive, and it makes Shay want to punch him. If they hadn't been about to do something far more important, he might have.

"None of your business," he says instead, stiffly. He can't exactly tell William that he's down here thinking about how much he misses his child, because William would never understand that.

"Where's Desmond?"

"Um…" Shay gestures vaguely upward. "With Haytham, I think. Getting ready."

"Of course he is," William mutters, lip curling in disgust. Then—"Getting ready for what?"

"To go after Eighteen," Shay says, because as loath as he is to tell William anything, it's not like this they'll be able to keep this secret for long.

"Damnit," William mutters, and he goes rushing up the stairs, calling for Desmond.

This reaction is so unexpected that Shay finds himself scrambling to his feet and running after him. He gets upstairs just as Desmond is ducking out of his room, looking confused and vaguely worried. Haytham is standing in the doorway of his own room, arms crossed in such a way that his hidden blade is clearly visible. He manages to make it look casual, even accidental, and he surveys the scene with a kind of casual aggression. None of the others are in sight. "Dad," Desmond says. "What's wro—"

"You're going to rescue Eighteen," William says.

"Well—" Desmond looks uncertain in the face of his father's curious intensity. "You knew we were going to do that, we just… decided on a date while you were gone. That's all. And it's not really a rescue. It's mostly a... a recon thing. Getting information about her."

"But _now_?"

"Yes, now," Desmond says. "Why? Is now not good?"

"It's fine," William says. "I just thought we had more time."

The phrase strikes Shay as just slightly off, but he's not sure if it's so much what William's saying or the way that he's saying it. Either way, there's definitely something wrong, and it's making William look far less confident than usual. He grabs at Desmond (Haytham goes stiff), guiding him into a chair and sitting down himself.

"More time for what?" Desmond asks. "Seriously, what's wrong? And where have you been the past couple of days?"

"The same place I was the last time I left," William says. "Looking for… for proof." He takes a deep breath. "I've known about subject eighteen for over a year now," he says. "I first heard the rumors a while ago, but they seemed too wild to be true."

"What's so crazy about Abstergo finding another person to experiment on?" Desmond asks. "They really seem to like doing that."

"No, that part was pretty believable," William assures him. "We all know templars are bastards.” He doesn’t look at either Shay or Haytham, but his meaning is obvious. “But there are stories about where she came from that I didn't want to believe at first. Once you started getting interested in her, I knew I had to find out for certain."

"What kind of rumors?" Haytham asks, without moving away from his post at the door.

William glances at him, but looks back at Desmond when he answers. "Her mother was a templar," he begins. "One that was very badly injured just after becoming pregnant. She should have died, but Abstergo sent some people after her and they managed to save her life. Sort of."

"How do you sort of save a life?" Desmond asks.

"From what I understand…" William hesitates. "They didn't care much if the mother lived or died. But they very much wanted the baby, Eighteen. They only needed the mother alive long enough to give birth. They put her on life support, and when Eighteen was born, they pulled the plug."

"That's awful," Desmond says. "What was so important about Eighteen that they went through all that trouble for her?"

"They're going to put her in an animus," William says. "I'm not entirely sure why they're waiting; maybe her brain just isn't developed well enough to work with the machines yet."

"They must be pretty interested in her ancestors," Desmond says.

"Well, yes," William agrees. "They had her father in an animus for a while, but he managed to get away from them. They want to get to his ancestors through her."

"That sucks!" Desmond bursts out. "She can't help who her parents are." He goes quiet for a second, then asks, "Who was it? The father, I mean."

William doesn't answer. He opens and closes his mouth several times, never quite looking at Desmond. Instead, he stares at the grimy tiles on the floor as if it's suddenly become the most important thing in the world. "Dad?" Desmond asks again.

"You, Desmond," William snaps, face jerking back up to look at Desmond. "You're her father, and Lucy is her mother."

"Yea, right," Desmond laughs. "Seriously, who’s the father?"

"I am being serious," William says.

"Lucy's dead. She died… what, a few weeks after we--you know. Even if she was pregnant, she couldn’t have given birth.” Desmond sounds remarkably calm, as if the suggestion that Eighteen could be his child is truly and absolutely ridiculous.

"She didn't die instantly when you stabbed her," William says. Desmond flinches. "As I said, Abstergo sent people to retrieve her before she could bleed out. They saved your daughter."

Desmond's face has gone very, very pale, very, very quickly, and now he is the one struggling to say something. "But I stabbed Lucy in the stomach," he says at last. "If she was pregnant, I would have… the baby would…"

"Lucy was less than a month pregnant," William says, and his voice could almost be called kind. "The baby was only an inch long. You missed."

"Oh, God," Desmond whispers. He leans back, pressing his hand to his face. Shay tries to imagine how he would feel, if he was getting this news about Jeanne, or any of his sons for that matter, and he understands the way Desmond starts to shake. He has never before appreciated how lucky he and Aveline were, to be able to fall in love despite their different allegiances. They'd stayed together, raised a beautiful family, grown more and more in love with every year that passed.

Watching Desmond at this moment is like seeing a mirror image of his own life, where exactly everything went wrong. Is this the situation he would have found himself in if Aveline had turned out to be a double agent? He can't imagine how he would have coped with being forced to kill her. How he would have felt, learning afterwards that she had been pregnant?

"How long have you known?" Desmond asks. "When did you find out for sure that she's my daughter?"

"Several weeks ago," William says. "I got confirmation that she’s yours the last time I left. This time I was trying to find out how many people know about her, and what they want to do with her in the future.” He sighs. "But I first heard the rumors over two years ago, when she was born. I just didn't think they were true."

"You've known?" Desmond demands. "You've known for weeks, and you didn't tell me? You didn't even say something?"

"I didn't know how to start."

"I should have known!" Desmond shouts, and then suddenly he's on his feet, and his hand is clenched into a fist at his side. "I had a _right_ to know, as soon as you did!"

"Desmond, calm down—"

Desmond doesn't calm down, he lunges forward and hits his father, hard, across the face. He might have kept hitting, except that Haytham goes after him, pulling him back and away. "Don't," he says softly.

"She's my daughter," Desmond protests, turning around to face Haytham. "And she's been a prisoner since the day she was born. I should have—I _would_ have done something, if I'd known! But he never told me." He's still shaking. "She's my daughter," he says again, softly, as if he still can't wrap his mind around the idea.

"I know," Haytham says, and he's smiling softly. "I heard. Congratulations, Desmond. You're going to be a wonderful father."

"But I—" Desmond seems to be calming down, and instead of being angry now looks mildly terrified. "How can you know that? I've only messed up so far, I let her stay in… in that place, she should have been here—"

"You didn't know," Haytham says. "How could you have done anything? And the moment you found out—Desmond, no, listen to me." Desmond's eyes are drifting downward, his whole posture folding up as if in shame. Haytham puts one hand on his shoulder, the other under his chin, gently moving his face upward. "You loved her like your own from the first moment you saw her picture. Long before you knew she truly was yours. That's how I know you will be a wonderful father."

Desmond hugs him, quick and impulsive, and when they break apart he's smiling at last. Beaming, really, and Shay takes this as a sign it's safe to join the conversation. He walks over to Desmond, and claps him across the back. "You think you're happy now," he says. "Just wait until you're actually holding her."

"I can't wait," Desmond says softly, and then his face falls. "But… this isn't a rescue mission. We're just going to look around, plant cameras—" He looks sideways up at Haytham, almost pleading. "It wouldn't do any harm just to… to go in and see her though, would it?"

"It could," Haytham says. "We don't know anything about the security there, but I think it's safe to guess that Eighteen's cell will be the most heavily guarded. And even if it's not, she's two years old. If you go in there and talk to her, do you think she'll even know how to keep that a secret? She can give the whole thing away, and never even mean to. Desmond, if you want her to be safe, you can't see her. Not this time."

"But—" he nods, face turning downward again. "Fine," he says, in a barely audible voice.

Shay leaves Haytham trying to reassure Desmond. He's just noticed Rebecca watching from her doorway, looking more worried than he would have expected. "What's wrong?" he asks her quietly, and she jumps, although Shay hadn't been trying to sneak up on her.

"Nothing," she says.

"Really? Your expression doesn't look like nothing."

She looks at him, almost sizing him up. "Don't tell Desmond," she says. "But I knew Lucy was pregnant, just... not that Desmond was the father."

"You knew?" Shay repeats. "How?"

Rebecca smiles thinly at him. "I knew she was late," she says. "Lucy asked me to get a pregnancy test for her once when I went out to get supplies. She trusted me enough for that, apparently. Just not enough to keep her from betraying us."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Shay asks, ignoring the part about a betrayal. He never visited Desmond while Lucy was still alive, but he's always had some level of sympathy for her, and for her defection. Sometimes, there are no good choices in life.

Rebecca shrugs helplessly. "I knew she was dead," she says. "I assumed that meant the baby was gone as well. It was sad, but there didn't seem much point in spreading that around. And I never heard the rumors Bill was talking about."

She looks like she might be about to say more, but Desmond comes over to them then. "We're going," he says.

"Now?" Rebecca asks.

Desmond nods. "I can't wait anymore," he says. "I have to do _something_ to help my daughter. Even if it's just going in to gather intel."

“Then we’re with you,” Shay says.

Rebecca nods. “Of course we are.”


	15. Chapter 15

Desmond has no memory of traveling from the warehouse to the building where Eighteen is being held. He doesn't remember breaking into the building itself, either, or splitting up from the others, walking through the halls to plant cameras and get the general lay of the land.

Those things must have happened, though, because the next thing Desmond knows clearly, he's standing in front of the door to his daughter's cell, staring at the keypad on the wall and trying to remember why he's not supposed to go inside. He can see the numbers, clear as anything, in eagle vision. He can see _her_ , even, through the wall. Nothing but a tiny blue lump, curled up on the floor somewhere in the room.

He keeps thinking about what Shay had said in the warehouse, about how much better it would be when he actually holds her in his own arms. Arm. Whatever. Desmond needs to hold her, needs to see her for himself. His little girl is right on the other side of that wall, and—and there never was any real chance that Desmond was going to walk away without seeing her, was there?

He punches in the code and waits just long enough for the light to flash green (he'd used his eagle vision to figure out the code to a keypad just like this, when he'd run from Abstergo back in Italy, with Lucy). Then he opens the door and slips through, closing it behind him.

For a second, Desmond just stands there paralyzed with his back against the door, taking in everything. It's a small room. Fifteen feet by fifteen feet, and painted a very pale yellow. There's not much in there—a little bathroom area, half hidden behind a screen (Desmond wonders if Eighteen is toilet trained, then thinks about the vast amount of things he doesn't know about her, then decides he should just stop thinking about that). A desk with paper and crayons (maybe some halfhearted attempt to give her something to do). A low mat resting on the floor.

Eighteen is lying on the mat, curled into an impossibly tiny ball beneath a blanket the same color as the walls. It's early afternoon, a strange time for sleeping, but then kids nap, don't they? Desmond has no idea, about this or about anything else, so he just focuses on Eighteen. Her breathing is slow and even, but her face is creased into a frown, and she twitches a little in her dreams. Desmond thinks she looks thin, and scared, and—

Well, she looks like she's waking up.

There's a camera on the wall, but Desmond knows Rebecca must have hacked her way into them as soon as they got on site. He doesn't actually remember her doing it, but they'd talked about it several times in the last couple days, and anyway she must have done it because Desmond would never have managed to get this far inside if she hadn't. So he ignores the camera, and forces his shaking legs to carry him across the room to kneel at Eighteen's side.

Her eyes blink open, and they're Lucy's eyes, exactly the same color and shape, but twisted by a fear Desmond had never seen in Lucy. Eighteen lets out a little whimper and scrambles away from him, pressing her back to the wall. Somehow, she looks even smaller than she had before.

"Hey," Desmond says, and he keeps his voice low, with a smile on his face. He shifts a little closer, palm up to show he's not hiding anything. "You don't have to be scared of me, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm your dad."

"Dad?" Eighteen whispers. She looks utterly confused, and Desmond feels his smile drop a little. Maybe she doesn't even know what that means. It's not like she'll have been exposed to a whole lot of healthy family relationships, locked up in here.

"Dad," he repeats. "Yea. It means that I'm… I'm here to take care of you."

Eighteen just stares at something beyond Desmond, like she's too afraid to look him in the eye. She whispers to herself, something too quiet for Desmond to hear. She almost looks like she's trying to puzzle her way through a difficult concept, trying to figure out what it means to have a dad. It feels like they stay there like that forever, and Desmond starts to feel doubts creeping like a haze into his mind. He's itching to just hold her, but he won't do it now, like this, when she still looks half scared out of her mind and so very confused.

Then, abruptly, her eyes go wide, and he can practically see the understanding click into place. "Dad? Daddy!" And there is so much excitement in her voice that Desmond actually can't stop himself. He scoots forward toward Eighteen, and he's just starting to reach out to her when she jumps into his arm. And she's warm, and solid—she's real where she curls up on his lap, pressing her face into his chest and wrapping her arms around as much of him as she can reach.

Desmond only has one arm to hold her with, so he curls his whole body around Eighteen instead, trying to use every part of himself to hold her with. Eighteen doesn't seem to mind. She's still holding him just as tightly as he's holding her, which is good because Desmond doesn't think he could let go just now. He still can't get over the sheer impossibility of this moment, of how miraculous it feels. Eighteen isn't the first child he's held, of course. There were a scattering of kids on the Farm, and he's seen most of his visitors when they were young. But there's something about Eighteen, specifically, that feels different to Desmond. Every little movement, every rise and fall of her chest, seems to turn Desmond's whole world upside down. This is _his_ daughter, his and Lucy's. They'd made her and here she is, beautiful and warm and perfect in every way imaginable.

"Hey, kid," he says when he can trust himself to talk. She makes a little noise into his chest, but doesn't move. Desmond rubs his hand against her back, a soothing circle over and over to calm her. "I've been waiting a long time to meet you."

"Why?" Eighteen asks, tilting her face up to look at him. Desmond leans down, kisses her on the forehead before he can stop himself. Eighteen smiles at him. "Why, daddy?"

"Because you are very special," Desmond says seriously. "And I need you to know that. And—" He kisses her again, because he needs to see her smile the way she had the first time. "And I love you." His voice sticks in his throat, and it's a struggle to speak through it. "More than anything."

"Wow," Eighteen whispers. "Really?"

"Really."

"Why?" she asks again, and Desmond shakes his head.

"I don't need a reason," he says. "I just do." He turns Eighteen around in his lap, so that she's leaning back against his chest, and then pulls his bag off his back. He hadn't planned this when he decided what to bring here today, but now it's all falling perfectly into place. "I brought you presents."

She doesn't say anything, just sits there with her eyes wide and her whole body tense with excitement. Desmond fumbles with the zipper of his bag, struggling a little with one hand, and Eighteen leans forward to help him. When the bag is open she sits back again and waits while Desmond digs around inside and eventually pulls out his lion. He'd brought it for himself—a habit he's fallen into, one he hasn't told anyone else about, not even Haytham—but he's pretty sure Eighteen needs it more.

"This was mine," he says. "My mom made it for me when I was younger than you, and it's… a very brave lion." He presses the stuffed animal into her chest and then—when she seems uncertain what to do with it—wraps first one of her arms, then the other, around it. She gets it then, hugging it and petting it on the head.

"Nice kitty," she says, smiling at it.

"But you have to hide him, okay?" Desmond asks. "If anyone else comes, you have to make sure they don't see." When she nods, Desmond pulls his second present out. This time, he doesn't blame Eighteen for her look of complete confusion.

"This is Clay," he says, as the little drone stirs on his hand and takes off flying. "He—"

But he doesn't get to say anything else because Eighteen shrieks in sudden, delighted laughter (and it's the best sound Desmond has ever heard). She jumps up as the drone starts darting around the room, chasing after it on her stick thin legs and giggling. One arm reaches for the drone (which darts around her outstretched hand, always just out of reach, like Clay is playing with her. Maybe he is). The other hand is pulled close to her chest, still cradling the lion.

She trips abruptly over the mat she'd been sleeping on (Desmond jerks to his feet, concerned), but apparently it's soft enough to keep her from hurting herself. Eighteen rolls off it, still smiling, then pauses. "Daddy present too," she says seriously, and Desmond shakes his head.

"No," he says. What does she have here that she could give him, anyway? "You don't—"

But Eighteen doesn't listen, just pulls her mat aside so Desmond can see there's something underneath. An envelope. Eighteen picks it up, and comes back to Desmond, holding it out to him. "From mommy," she says.

"Wha— _what_?"

She holds it out again, more insistent this time. "From mommy!"

And Desmond has no idea how Lucy could have given Eighteen anything, but he takes it anyway, tucking it safely away. "Thank you," he says, and leans over to hug her. She hugs him back, and then jerks suddenly away from him as the door opens again. The change in her, the way she scrambles backward toward the wall, folding herself inward, making herself into the smallest possible target, is heartbreaking. Desmond frowns, shifting to put himself between Eighteen and the door, even as Eighteen shoves the lion out of sight underneath herself. At least she'd been listening.

"Desmond, what are you doing in here?"

It's Shay, and Desmond breathes a little sigh of relief. Not a templar, then. Or… well, alright, a templar, but not the kind that's going to hurt Eighteen. "You know what I'm doing here," he says.

"You shouldn't have," Shay says softly, stepping closer. "We have to leave. Now."

"Leave?" No, he doesn't want to.

"Yes, Desmond," Shay insists. "Someone set off one of the alarms on the floor under us—the guards haven't figured out what's going on yet, and if we leave now, they _won't_. But only if we leave now."

"Fine," Desmond says. "Sure." His brain is scrambling, trying to find a way out of this situation that doesn't involve leaving Eighteen behind. "Can we take her with us?"

"Desmond." Shay's voice is firm, but his eyes understand. "The alarm is on the floor _under_ us. They're sealing that whole level off, we have to go out over the rooftops. We won't make it if we're carrying a child."

"But—"

"We'll come back."

Desmond nods, miserable, and turns back to Eighteen. He hugs her, and she's shaking in his arms now. "Daddy go?" she asks.

"I have to," he says.

" _Why_?"

He shakes his head, tries to ignore Shay pulling on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'll come back, I promise. I _promise_ , okay?"

But she's crying as Shay finally gets a hold on Desmond, pulling him away, and that sound follows Desmond all the way out of the room, out of the building, back to the van that's waiting for them outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, this is one of my favorite chapters.


	16. Chapter 16

Shay and Desmond are the last two to return to their meeting place on the top floor, just next to the emergency exit with the fire escape. The others have all gone out to the van already, but Edward had volunteered to stay behind and wait for the other two. "Come on!" he hisses as soon as they come into sight—Shay running, Desmond staggering behind. Edward thinks he looks like he's been slapped in the face with a wet fish (it's a very distinctive look).

"Rebecca said she cut the alarm on this door," Edward explains in a rush as they come into earshot. "Or—she hacked it, or smacked it around or something, I don't know. Hey, what's wrong with you, Desmond?"

Desmond shakes his head and stares at the ground. Shay looks back at him, then answers when it's obvious Desmond won't. "I'll tell you later," he says, which is frustrating because it's not like it actually _tells him_ anything.

"But—"

"So who set off the alarm downstairs?" Shay asks, as they push through the door and onto a rickety staircase.

"Down one floor and then there's a roof down the block we can jump to," Edward instructs. "And Connor set it off."

"Connor?" Shay demands. They're at the right floor now, and Shay lets go of Desmond long enough to keep from dragging him along when he jumps. Desmond follows (he stumbles a little as he lands, but recovers), and Edward goes last.

"Yea. He showed up halfway through, and it's not like it was his fault or anything, you know?" Edward points toward a hatch on the far side of the ceiling. "There's a ladder there, lets out in a janitor's closet. And Connor—he didn't know what we were doing, he just went straight from dying to suddenly being here."

"Damn!" Shay curses. They reach the hatch, and Edward opens it easily. The others had unlocked it a few minutes earlier, as they hurried ahead, which at least makes this escape far easier.

Desmond freezes. "So if Connor hadn't shown up—we might have had more time? We wouldn't have had to leave over the rooftops?"

"I guess, but—"

_"We could have taken her with us?"_

"What?" Edward asks. "I feel like I'm missing something." Desmond fumes silently, and Shay shoots Edward a 'not now' look, but neither of those expressions actually tell Edward anything at all. "What happened in there?" he demands, as they scramble down the ladder and (after a brief pause) out of the janitor's closet. They take the stairs down.

"It doesn't matter," Shay says. "We need to focus—"

"What do you mean 'it doesn't matter'?" Desmond demands. "This is my daughter we're talking about! If the alarm hadn't gone off, we might have been able to bring her!"

"No, Desmond!" Shay snaps. "We weren't supposed to take her in the first place. We talked about this before we left, we agreed it was too much of a risk! You shouldn't have been in there at all!"

"How can you say that?" Desmond demands. "You have a daughter."

"I know, Desmond," Shay says. They're out on the street now, and Edward points out the van. They can just barely hear the faint sound of police sirens approaching—maybe someone had called them after Connor set off the alarms, or maybe they're speeding toward some unrelated disaster. Either way, it makes Edward nervous. Normally he wouldn't mind the chance at a big fight, but he's not sure Shay and Desmond would stop arguing long enough to defend themselves.

Besides, Haytham hadn't let Edward take any of the exciting guns, so the fight probably wouldn’t even be worth the effort.

"Come on, guys," he says, tugging at Shay's arm (not Desmond's, because Desmond actually looks angry. Edward tries to think of a time he's seen Desmond look this upset, and fails utterly. It's like seeing a kitten turn suddenly into a lion). Shay gives a little, lets Edward drag him away, and Desmond gives in long enough to follow. He keeps talking, though.

"Desmond," Shay insists, interrupting the other man’s rant. "You need to calm down and actually think about what you're saying! Eighteen isn't _happy_ in there, but she's safe. At least for the moment. They still need her, and they're not going to hurt her. The things that are likely to get her hurt are the things _you_ did today! What do you think is going to happen when they realize someone's been in there? If they realize it was you? They'll move her, they'll put her under guard, they might even hurt her to get to you."

"But she was alone!"

"And now she's in _danger_!"

Edward has never been so happy to get inside a van, and he looks hopefully at Haytham as the three of them find seats. He knows how to handle both Desmond and Shay, maybe he'll be able to do something.

But the argument only gets worse once there are more of them there to join in. The general feeling Edward's getting from most people (apart from Connor, who mostly seems justifiably confused), as the van speeds its way back toward the warehouse and Desmond's story slowly comes out, is that what Desmond did was stupid and dangerous, but also the only thing he _could_ do, under the circumstances. Eventually, the van falls into an uneasy, almost sulky silence. Edward's not entirely sure who is on which side anymore, just that everyone is upset.

"Did you at least tell her not to say anything to anyone?" Shay asks Desmond, after the quiet has had time to stew a little.

Desmond shakes his head and stares out the window. "I didn't think about it."

"You sound like you weren't thinking about anything much," Shay mutters, and Edward thinks _well, shit_ because for a second it looks like Desmond is going to start arguing again. Then he shakes his head and slumps back against his seat.

"Maybe you're right," he says softly. "Maybe I shouldn't have gone inside and seen her but… I guess I really wasn't thinking."

"Desmond," Haytham says softly. He tries to move closer, but the way Desmond is sitting is all closed up and sharp angles, not meant for being held.

"She cried when I left," Desmond says. "I just made everything worse."

No one says so much as a single word for the rest of the trip, and when the van finally parks out front of the safe house, Desmond hangs back a little. Edward waits as well, concerned. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," Desmond says, far too quickly to be believed. "I just need to talk to Ezio about something."

Which strikes Edward as odd, because why does he want to talk to Ezio, of all people? Not that there's anything wrong with Ezio, but Edward really wants Desmond to go talk to Haytham. Because who else could make him feel better? Curious now, Edward starts walking back toward the warehouse, going slowly so he can still hear what's going on behind him.

"Ezio?" Desmond says softly. "Can I ask you something?"

“Of course.”

Edward hears Desmond take a breath before starting. “Back when Lucy was still with us, you came visiting and you told me that Lucy and Rebecca and Shaun were all, ah…together. Like… _together_ , together, not just physically in the same place. But, um… You know. _Really_ in the same, um… the same place.”

"Yes, Desmond," Ezio says. "I know what you're talking about."

"Right," Desmond says. "What I want to ask is… were they really… I mean, were you serious about that, or was it some kind of a joke?”

“Have you been worried about that all this time?” Ezio asks, sounding startled.

“No! No, I mean… Well, maybe a little. It's just that Lucy betrayed us but she's still Eighteen’s mother. I sort of… I wanted to know if that night meant anything to her, or if she was just working her way around the group and it happened to be my turn. Or--” A new idea seems to occur to him, and Edward hears something like panic in his voice. “Did you think she just slept with me because she wanted an animus subject? A… a backup?”

"Desmond," Ezio interrupts softly. "Did you love her?"

Desmond makes a thoughtful noise. "I didn't know her that long. But I—I think that if things hadn't turned out the way they had, maybe I would have. Or maybe—I don't know. But Ezio, really, were you serious about the three of them sleeping together?"

“Of course not,” Ezio says, after a pause just long enough to make Edward start to wonder. “That never happened. It was a stupid joke, and if you were worried about it, then I apologize."

"No," Desmond says, with a little sigh. "Don't worry about it. I just wanted to know. And now I do. So—thanks." He laughs. There’s no humor in it at all. “So now I just have to worry about whether she was using me for animus breeding stock.”

“Desmond…” Ezio says sadly.

“Nevermind,” Desmond mumbles. He hurries off, and Edward turns back to look at Ezio. Desmond is already inside the warehouse, and so he doesn't see the _look_ on Ezio's face. But Edward does. Ezio's expression is one of such extreme pity that it seems to cast his whole face into shadow, hollowing him out and turning him pale as a ghost.

Edward goes over and pokes Ezio in the arm. Normally, he's very good at bothering people out of being upset, but today Ezio just swats at him and shakes his head.

"Not just now, Edward," he says, and Edward pauses. So maybe this is even more serious than he'd thought, and it only takes a moment or two for Edward to figure out what's wrong.

"You lied to Desmond!" he accuses, and Ezio shushes him quickly.

"Shut up, Edward!" he says sharply. "I know you can't keep a secret to save your life, but this is for Desmond, alright? Don't you dare tell him I lied, don't you _dare_. Not now."

"I won't!" Edward protests. "I _can_ keep secrets, you know. It's easier now, we're all living in the same time and I'm not getting weird visits from Shay before he realizes Aveline is into him or whatever. But why is it so important?"

"To you or me, it wouldn't be," Ezio says. "But you know how Desmond is about sex. He's not exactly a prude, but we both know that if he decided Lucy was worth sleeping with, he must have thought she was something special. And the fact that she ended up pregnant with his child after all that, well…" he shakes his head. "Desmond doesn't need to be hurt any more than he already has been. I'm going to talk to Rebecca and Shaun as soon as I can, too. He just—it won't hurt to let him believe Lucy felt something for him."

"Okay," Edward agrees quietly. "I won't tell him. I swear."

Ezio nods and hurries off, presumably to find Rebecca and Shaun. Edward goes looking for Desmond.

He's in his own room, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed and his knees pulled up to his chest. He's holding a dirty envelope in his hand, but not looking at it.

Ezio sits down next to him. "Are you—no, you're not okay."

"Not really," Desmond mutters.

"What's in the envelope?" Edward asks, and Desmond looks down at the grubby paper.

"I don't know," he admits. "Eighteen gave it to me. She… she said it was from Lucy."

"Can I see?"

Desmond lets out a breath. "Would you? I want to know what's in there, but I can't bring myself to look."

Edward nods (he's curious, why not?), and opens the envelope when Desmond offers it. Inside is a letter, one page long, and Edward starts to read in silence.

_To my baby,_

_You don't know me, but I'm your mother. My name's Lucy, and I love you._

_I know you won't have heard that often enough. You may not have ever heard it before, but I do love you. More than anything, more than I knew I could. You weren't supposed to happen, you were... you were the biggest surprise of my life. The biggest and the best. Baby, I regret a lot of things in my life, and especially how things turned out, but I don't regret you. I didn't_ expect _you, but I don't regret you._

_There are still one or two people here that like me. Or feel sorry for me, at least. So because of them, I know you'll get this letter, and there's one thing I want to tell you now while I actually have a chance. It's the only thing your mother will ever tell you to do, so please, listen._

_Grow up happy, baby. Do what I couldn't, and what your father couldn't. Just be happy, whatever that means to you._

_Love (always),  
 ~~Lucy~~ Mom_

"Edward?" Desmond asks, when Edward has read the letter through twice. "What's wrong? Is it something awful? Is—"

"The next time you see Eighteen," Edward says quietly. "You can tell her she has two parents that love her very much." He hands the envelope back to Desmond, and then drags him to his feet. "There’s no way Lucy was using you to get to your ancestors, okay? She cared about Eighteen. Come on now."

"Where are we going?"

"My room," Edward says. "Unless you want to be alone?"

He doesn't give Desmond a chance to protest, he just drags him away and doesn't let him go again for the rest of the day. Haytham is out for most of that time, but when he finally gets back, Edward is glad to see him go straight to Desmond. Edward has managed to annoy Desmond into cheering up a bit (because honestly, he really _is_ good at that), and he lets Haytham sit down with him (on the couch, because there's nowhere else for them to sit, really). They talk for a good long while, until it starts to get late. Edward doesn't leave, but he lets Haytham finish the job of bringing Desmond out of his funk without interrupting.

"Are you mad at me?" Desmond asks at last, when it's gotten pretty late. It's dark outside the window, that particular kind of after-midnight-dark that makes people more comfortable sharing.

"For going to see your daughter?" Haytham touches Desmond's shoulder, hesitates, pulls back. "No. I was. A bit, earlier."

"Oh."

"But now, I think… if I had been as brave a father as you, if I had gone to Connor when we first visited, if…" he trails off. Shrugs. "Things might have been better."

"I think you're a great dad," Desmond says.

This is the point when Edward has to leave the room because he's smiling with an inappropriate enthusiasm. Haytham is already shooting him annoyed looks. So Edward goes out for a while, wanders around, looks for Connor. He finally finds him passed out in exhaustion in one of the empty bedrooms (looking only a few years younger than Edward himself does at the moment). And well... _that's_ boring, so Edward goes back to Haytham and Desmond, who—

Desmond has slumped sideways on the couch, dozing off against Haytham's chest. Haytham looks up at Edward. "What do I do?" he whispers.

"Put him in the bed," Edward whispers back. "Then lie down yourself, you look like you need the sleep."

Haytham nods, and he must really be tired because he just does as he's told, picking Desmond up (even with Desmond old enough to have a child himself, he still looks like a kid in Haytham's arms) and transferring him gently onto the bed. He lies down himself, and Edward waits until Haytham looks settled before climbing in as well and getting comfortable on Desmond's other side.

"Dad…" Haytham protests, but it sounds halfhearted and sleepy. "What're you doing?"

"Shh," Edward says. He reaches across Desmond, brushes a stray lock of hair out of his son's face. Haytham makes a noise, but doesn't move. "Come on. We all need this tonight."

And that's how they fall asleep. Desmond wrapped up in Edward's arms the way he always is when they sleep together, with Haytham a reassuring presence on the other side of the bed. But when Edward half wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of Desmond's restless stirring, and sees him reaching out to something he can only see in his dreams, Edward knows he must be wishing desperately that Eighteen was somehow in bed with them too.


	17. Chapter 17

Haytham wakes himself out of a dead sleep when he falls out of bed. For a moment, he just lies there on the floor, disoriented because he's a full grown man and (even leaving aside his extensive combat training, and the fact that he regularly climbs buildings and runs around on rooftops), he shouldn’t be falling out of bed. Finally, when Haytham gets tired of lying on his back like a flipped turtle, he gets to his feet, glancing back at the bed as he does so.

Desmond and Edward are still wrapped up together there, which at least explains why Haytham had fallen—with three people crammed into a single bed, it's a surprise they'd all managed to stay on as long as they had. Looking at them, Haytham almost manages a smile, even after the disaster that yesterday's mission had been.

It's just that they look so completely out of it, with their pillow fallen somewhere and the blankets a mess around their feet, where the two of them have kicked them around during the night. Haytham knows his father is a horribly chaotic sleeper at the best of times (his mother had complained about it often when Haytham was a child), and it doesn't surprise him that Desmond had been restless last night, of all nights. But the weather is getting colder, even with the modern miracle of indoor heating. Desmond is wearing a T-shirt, while Edward is (of course) bare chested. They both look pale and chilled.

Haytham leans over and pulls the blankets back up over the pair of them, gently so as not to wake either one. Edward mutters something that sounds less than polite in his sleep, and Haytham pretends not to hear it. He's all ready to creep out of the room and leave the two of them to their sleep, when something makes him pause.

There's nothing unusual in seeing Edward and Desmond curled up together in bed. Haytham hasn't really been bothered by that since the first time he caught them at it, years ago from his point of view. It's something that helps the two of them, so why not? Haytham isn't going to spoil that for them, not when his biggest complaint is wishing that he felt comfortable with joining in. Still, there's something… off about this, something missing that Haytham can't quite put his finger on. He studies the scene in front of him for several moments, and then finally figures it out.

This is the first night since coming back that he's seen Desmond sleeping without his lion.

Haytham frowns, and reminds himself that yesterday had been unusually hectic. Maybe he'd forgotten. And anyway, Desmond is a grown man. He's old enough to choose not to sleep with a stuffed animal if he doesn't want to. Of course he is. Haytham shouldn't take it personally. Even though he'd thought it was important to Desmond too. He'd thought it was something they could share.

He leaves the room and immediately comes face to face with Connor. He looks like he'd been about to knock, and drops his hand abruptly when Haytham comes out. "Sorry," he says.

"No." Haytham closes the door so they won't wake Edward or Desmond, and Connor takes a step back to keep a safe amount of space between them. "Don't be sorry. Did you need something?"

He hates how stiff his own voice sounds. This is the first chance he's had to talk to Connor since his son had come back, and there had been things he'd wanted to say. Things he'd been practicing in his head since he realized Connor would have to be back eventually. But he hadn't been thinking about Connor just then, he'd been thinking about Desmond, and that's not at all fair to Connor. He deserves Haytham's full attention for this conversation, and Haytham finds himself struggling to focus.

"I wanted to talk to you," Connor says. He sounds calm, which is a bit of a relief. Haytham had seen Connor old and tired and filled with regret, but his most recent (and vivid) memory of his son involves a blade in his neck. He'd half expected that angry version of Connor to come back, but although his son looks about the same age as he had then, his eyes are older.

"We can talk," Haytham agrees. "Do you want to go somewhere else, or—"

Connor shrugs, and gestures vaguely back toward the common area. "This is good enough. I don't think anyone else is even awake." They sit down, and Haytham realizes he's picked a spot that keeps him from looking at Connor. He moves so they can see one another, but then there's nothing to say.

"I'm sorry," Haytham says suddenly, and Connor flinches back as if struck. Haytham hadn't really expected the words, but as soon as he says them he knows they are the right ones. The apology has been sitting unsaid on the tip of his tongue, a heavy weight pulling at his conscience because he hadn't had a chance to get the words out in the brief moments he'd had between his death and his arrival in this century.

"You're—what are you sorry for?" Connor looks almost offended that Haytham would try to apologize.

"Everything I did wrong," Haytham says. "So… so basically, everything I ever did to you." Connor tries to interrupt, but Haytham doesn't let him. "I didn't realize how wrong I'd gotten everything until Fort George. While we were fighting, I—"

"Father," Connor says, trying again to interrupt.

"I visited you," Haytham says. It's almost funny, because he hadn't been able to say a word at first, and now he feels like his mouth is running away without him, and he has no idea where it's taking him. Or how to stop. "I visited you when you were an infant," he says. "With your mother." Connor flinches again, and this time doesn't try to say anything. "I knew then… I couldn't hurt you. I knew I had been doing everything wrong and I can never express to you how sorry I am."

" _Father_ ," Connor says, as Haytham finally pauses long enough to let him speak. "Will you stop trying to apologize?"

"I know," Haytham says quietly. "You have no reason to forgive me—"

"Only because there is nothing to forgive!" Connor insists. There is more raw, open distress in his voice now than Haytham has ever heard from him. " _I_ killed _you_ , in case you've forgotten—"

"Not really, no," Haytham mutters.

"And I lived with that guilt for the rest of my life," Connor says. "I told you once that killing you was a mistake, and the more time that passed, the more true that became. You were—you _are_ my father. And my visitor. And… and maybe my friend." He doesn't quite look at Haytham as he says this. "I need… I really need you to forgive me." Connor shakes his head, obviously upset. "You and I will never have the kind of relationship you want. You were not there when I was a child. I needed a father then, but I do not need you in that way anymore."

"Oh," Haytham says. There doesn't seem to be anything else _to_ say. He half stands to leave, because he doesn't want to sit here and listen to his son tell him that he isn't needed, isn't even _wanted_. Absurdly, he feels like he's lost something, although he is very aware that Connor had never really been his to lose.

"No, wait!" Connor says, urgently. He almost reaches out to Haytham, but then stops. "I need you as… as a friend, a colleague, I don't know. I don't know _how_ to have a father, but I do know that I have missed working with you."

Haytham has frozen awkwardly in his half standing position, but as Connor finishes speaking he almost falls back down, on top of him, arms awkwardly open. It isn't the most gracious hug in the world, but Haytham is just so relieved that Connor wants anything at all from him. If Connor doesn’t want Haytham as a father, that is… well, a bit painful. But Haytham can respect that decision, especially since Connor seems willing to try another relationship. The hug stretches on, awkward but heartfelt, and Connor returns it in kind, equally uncertain. At least they're trying to get along now. The last time they'd been this close to one another, Haytham had come away with a blade in his neck.

Maybe Connor is thinking the same thing, because he suddenly pushes himself away, scooting back in his seat. His eyes are fixed on the angry red scar that slices across Haytham's neck, and Haytham brings his hand up self-consciously to cover it. He doesn't like being reminded it's there. But then… he looks at Connor's face, stricken with guilt, and forces his hand back down. "It doesn't matter," he says. "None of it matters. This is a second chance, for all of us, and the past is over. You want my forgiveness, Connor, but the truth is I don't blame you."

"But you should—"

"No," Haytham insists. "As I told you on the day I died, I am proud of you." He smiles, just a bit. "In a way."

Connor laughs, a startled sound that cuts off abruptly, possibly as he realizes how inappropriate it is to laugh at his father's last words. But he grins, a little uncomfortably, and Haytham smiles back. "Thank you," Connor says, and his voice sounds brighter now, and his face is more open than Haytham has seen it since Connor was very young. "So this is our second chance?"

"Yes," Haytham says. "Or at least, that's the way I'm choosing to look at this."

"Then I want to make sure we do things right this time," Connor says. "I want us to talk. And—when we disagree—" Haytham notices that Connor says _when_ , not _if_. "We can figure it out without hurting one another."

And so they sit there and talk, starting with what Connor has missed by coming back later than the others. When they finish with that, Connor tells Haytham about the homestead (always one of his favorite topics of conversation, Haytham has noticed that in the past). They talk for quite a while, as the morning wears on, and eventually Desmond comes out to join them. He sits down next to Haytham without saying a word, leaning against his side as he fiddles with his phone. Haytham glances down and squeezes Desmond's shoulder when he sees the feed from Clay's cameras playing there. Eighteen. Of course.

He looks back up at Connor, half expecting to see jealousy there. Instead, Connor looks vaguely pleased. _Good_. Maybe Connor doesn't need a father, but the last few weeks with Desmond have started to show Haytham just how badly he needs a son. He's glad that Connor isn't going to begrudge him Desmond.

But that reminds him of the relatively tiny issue that had been bothering him earlier, and Haytham turns back to Desmond. "Hey," he says, as casually as he can, tapping Desmond on the shoulder.

"Yea?"

"I couldn't help noticing that you didn't have your lion with you last night," Haytham says, keeping his voice as casual as he can manage. "I was just wondering why."

"Oh!" Desmond frowns. "Promise you won't be mad?"

Always a good start, Haytham thinks dryly. Still, he nods for Desmond to go on.

He doesn't say anything, though. Instead, he hands Haytham the phone, tapping the side of the screen pointedly. Haytham looks down obediently, and for a few seconds the view on the screen is too blurry for Haytham to make out what he's looking at. Then the feed stabilizes, and Haytham sees Eighteen lying on her back, apparently deep in one sided conversation with—with Desmond's lion. The drone Clay is inhabiting doesn't have any microphones, so there's no sound, but Haytham can see her mouth moving, chattering away and once or twice even laughing (he glances over at Desmond, and sees the man smile in response, every time his daughter breaks out into laughter). She keeps at least one hand on the lion all the time, petting it or just holding it tight, like she's afraid someone will come by and snatch it away.

"You gave it to Eighteen," Haytham says.

Desmond nods. "I thought she needed him more than I do right now," he says seriously. "She's alone, but I have all of you."

And Haytham had been worried that Desmond had gotten tired of it. He should have known better. He excuses himself to go get dressed, and leaves Desmond and Connor looking down at the video of Eighteen. At least Desmond doesn't seem like he still blames Connor for setting off the alarm that prevented them taking Eighteen home with them.

Edward is still asleep when Haytham goes back into the room. He's managed to kick his blankets off again, and Haytham smiles as he tucks his father back in. Edward's arm snakes out and catches him around the wrist, although judging by the fact that his eyes are still closed and he's snoring a little, it might just be reflexive.

Haytham hugs him anyway, reflex or no, because after making up with Connor and finding out that Desmond is _not_ mad at him, after all, he is just in that kind of mood. His affection is rewarded by Edward trying to plant a kiss on him, because he is just that kind of man.

" _Dad_ ," Haytham complains, fondly, and he lets Edward sleep on.


	18. Chapter 18

The air smells like Kenway Problems when Ezio wakes up, so he buries his face in his pillow and tries to pretend he's still asleep. He doesn't care if Shay keeps telling him 'Kenway Problems’ isn't a real smell, because it definitely is. 

Okay, maybe it isn't (although Edward, at least, does have a certain undeniable smell to him). But there's a general feeling in the air, a kind of tension that means some Kenways, somewhere, are struggling to admit to each other that they care. Ezio grumbles nonsensically into his pillow, and wishes they'd just let themselves be happy with each other already.

Eventually, he realizes he's hungry, and decides to risk walking through what passes for Kenway family bonding (easily confused for arguments by the uninitiated). But when he leaves his room, he sees Desmond and Connor talking (about Eighteen, of course—Ezio is mostly convinced Desmond won't be able to talk about anything else until he gets his daughter back, and good for him). Haytham is just coming out of the room he shares with Edward, wearing the disgruntled expression of someone that's just had to deal with an early morning Edward. Everything is remarkably calm.

Ezio shrugs and goes looking for food, content that he has missed all the drama. His head is halfway inside the refrigerator when he hears someone say, "Ezio," and he bangs his head hard on the top shelf as he recognizes William's voice. He pulls out of the fridge and straightens up, trying to pretend nothing is wrong. William gives him a hopeless, disapproving look.

"Did you want to talk, or something?" Ezio asks.

"Yes, actually," William says. "But—downstairs."

"Well—alright," Ezio says. William nods curtly and heads for the stairs leading to the first floor of the warehouse. Ezio spreads his arms and mouths 'am I in trouble?' at Desmond, who shrugs and half rises as if to follow. Ezio shakes his head. Ezio pushes him back down and into his seat as he passes. He's got this.

Downstairs, William is waiting with his arms crossed, looking unhappily down at Ezio. Ezio frowns and tries to look older, unhappily reminded that he's come back fairly young. The visitors are all used to seeing each other at varying ages, it doesn't bother them much, but William is looking at Ezio like an impudent child.

"You care about Desmond, don't you?" William asks, after a long moment.

"Of course I do," Ezio says at once. "He's… strange. But he's been there for me for almost my whole life. Same as the rest of our visitors."

"Well I'm…" William looks up at the ceiling, and sighs. "I'm worried about him. He's too concerned with subject eighteen."

"I suppose it must look that way to you," Ezio says, fighting to keep his voice calm. "Since you don't seem like you've ever cared that much about your own child. Any amount of caring would seem like too much."

William half smiles at him. "How wonderfully naïve you all are," he says. "I've noticed it before, but really—how can you claim to have time for children while also being an assassin? I happen to notice _you_ didn't try it. You left the brotherhood when you married."

"I left the brotherhood because I was fifty one years old," Ezio says, testily. He doesn't like having his decisions questioned, especially by William Miles. "I had just watched Altair die, and it just seemed like the right time."

"Hmm." William doesn't look like he believes him. Ezio scowls back, because he doesn't want to be having this conversation. Then he remembers that William had mentioned Desmond, back at the beginning of the conversation.

"So why are you asking me about Desmond?" he asks.

"Because there's a chance all this could go wrong," William says. "If Eighteen is killed or moved—" he says this absolutely matter of fact. "Desmond will be crushed. I just want to know if something bad is about to happen with her."

"And what exactly do you expect me to do?" Ezio asks.

William walks over to Ezio, and hands him a relatively simple looking cell phone. It's a lot smaller than the one with all the fun stuff Desmond has. "Clay likes you, and he's the one with Eighteen just now. Just talk to him. Stay in contact, let me know if anything happens."

"I'm not going to go behind Desmond's back," Ezio says, trying to hand the phone back. William won't take it.

"Then tell him," he says. "If you don't, Clay will. I don't care, I just want to know what's going on, and I know Desmond won't talk to me about Eighteen. He's too busy talking to—" just for a second, he looks almost _jealous_. "To that templar."

"Haytham," Ezio says softly.

William grunts, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. He turns and heads back upstairs, leaving Ezio alone with his brand new cell phone. Which… alright, all things considered, that's actually pretty cool. It buzzes abruptly in his hand, and Ezio flips it open to see an excited message from Clay waiting for him.

Well. Maybe this won't be all bad. He really does like Clay, and he especially likes watching him slowly regain his sanity. At first, Ezio's conversations with Clay had been frustrating and difficult, because Ezio was as bad at texting as Clay was at remembering his own name. They'd both gotten better over the past few weeks, and Ezio falls easily into conversation now. It's not until Ezio tells Clay he thinks it's too bad that they never got to meet in person that anything out of the ordinary happens.

> We almost did. :/
> 
> What's that supposed to mean?
> 
> I mean I tried to come back.
> 
> What, from the dead? That's not possible.
> 
> Says the dead man
> 
> Yes, but that was a weird visitors thing.
> 
> Sort of
> 
> Sort of?
> 
> Clay?
> 
> Claaaaaaaaaaaaaay
> 
> Clay, what does 'sort of' mean?!
> 
> That thing that almost killed Desmond. The eye. Juno used it to get onto the internet
> 
> Where you are?
> 
> Have you two met?
> 
> No. But there's a connection between that thing and the real world and the internet. I thought I could use it to figure out a way to get a real body back.
> 
> Obviously it didn't work.
> 
> No
> 
> :/
> 
> :(
> 
> D:
> 
> I'm sorry.
> 
> It's okay. I sort of figured it wouldn't work, because Juno hadn't done it. But I had to try. And… it didn't help me, but it helped you guys.
> 
> How?
> 
> I don't know
> 
> But you must know SOMETHING.
> 
> You guys saved Desmond, right?
> 
> When he was supposed to die, you pulled him back?
> 
> Ezio?
> 
> We never really talked about it.
> 
> But you did
> 
> I think so.
> 
> Well I don't know how, but I think the eye sort of connected to all of you then
> 
> That's weird.
> 
> Duh. POE.
> 
> So when I tried to use it to get back home, it started pulling you guys here instead. The day that Edward showed up was the same day I tried to come home, and I guess the rest of you are just following. I don't know why it's taking so long, why some of you still aren't here.
> 
> Do you know why we're all coming back at different ages? Does it have something to do with what you tried to do?
> 
> Well I don't know for sure, but um… I think it has something to do with how Desmond thinks about you guys. Since he was the one living in this time
> 
> Ha! Thanks, Clay.
> 
> …ha?
> 
> Never mind. :) Oh, but Clay?
> 
> What?
> 
> Just so you know, if I ever get the chance to help you come back with the rest of us
> 
> I'm going to make sure it happens

Ezio slips his phone into a pocket and goes running upstairs. "Desmond!"

"What?" Desmond calls back.

"Why are you thinking about Shay naked?" He reaches the top of the stairs just in time to see Shay spit out a mouthful of coffee.

"I'm sorry," he says, as he turns back to look at Ezio. "I think I must have misheard you. Or possibly I'm still asleep and dreaming."

"I definitely don't think about you naked," Desmond adds hastily. He's still sitting at the table with Connor, who looks suddenly uncomfortable.

"That's not true!" Ezio says cheerfully. By this point, the sudden change in the conversation's volume has brought Edward and Haytham out as well.

"What's going on?" Edward asks.

"Ezio's just about to explain why Desmond's thinking about me naked," Shay says.

"Even though I'm _not_!" Desmond adds urgently.

"Clay says you are," Ezio says cheerfully, and he repeats everything Clay had told him, up to and including the point when he'd suggested that it's Desmond's mental images of them that decide how they had each arrived in this century. "And Shay showed up _naked_."

Edward laughs, but he's the only one that does. Everyone else is looking at Desmond, whose face is gradually turning red as he doesn't _quite_ look at Shay. "I mean… I guess, after all those times I dropped in on you and Aveline, um… maybe some stuff is a little bit burned into my mind."

"Ah," Shay mutters. He hastily lifts his mug and takes another mouthful of coffee, possibly just to have something to do with his hands. "What about the rest of you, then?"

"I think…" Desmond tilts his head sideways, considering. "Ezio, you’re pretty much the same age you were when I first saw you in the animus.

"Maybe a little bit off," Ezio says. "But close enough." 

Desmond goes on. “Connor, you’re--”

Connor very nearly smiles. “The age when I first worked with father?”

Ezio hastily turns a laugh into a cough when Desmond flushes. No doubt he’d spent plenty of time dwelling on that, given his obvious desire to see Haytham as his own father.

"What about me?" Edward demands.

"Well, that's easy," Shay laughs. "You never really managed to grow up, it's just that now your outside matches your inside."

Edward sulks, and Haytham pats him stiffly on the shoulder. "It's alright," he says graciously. "That's just how you are." Then he frowns. "I am curious as to why I came back at this age," he says, looking at Desmond. "I know I was younger when we first met, if only by a couple of years."

“I, um--” Desmond squirms. “You look like you’re about the same age as you were when you--ah--conceived Connor.”

"Conveniently dad aged, in other words," Shay murmurs, grinning at Desmond over the top of his coffee mug. Neither Desmond nor Haytham argues the point.

There's a little noise from the other end of the room, and Ezio is the only one that looks up and sees William standing there. His expression is stony and unreadable, and it makes Ezio feel distinctly uncomfortable. Something's going to have to be done about William at some point, but right now Ezio has no idea what that something should be. Maybe it'll be worth thinking about when they get Eighteen back. Desmond might be more open to talking to his dad when he doesn't have his own kid to worry about.

Either way, it's a worry for another day. William turns around and goes back into his own room, and Ezio feels himself relax slightly. He really doesn't want to see this turn into some kind of fight; as awful as William can be, this house doesn't need a rift dividing them just now.

"Hey, Ezio," Desmond says, nudging him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Ezio says. He grins. "Of course I am, Desmond, don't worry about me."

"You look upset."

"Just thinking," Ezio tells him, and he forces all thoughts of William away for the moment, and lets himself just enjoy breakfast with his visitors. He's not sure he'll ever really get used to this, the comforting knowledge that he won't have to worry about a visit ending halfway through the meal. They're all just… there. Really, physically, together.

It's a pretty good feeling.


	19. Chapter 19

For a week, nothing happens. No new visitors arrive, and no definitive plans are made to go after Eighteen. The tension growing between Haytham and William festers unpleasantly, but gets no worse.

The stillness in the safe house doesn't suit this group, in Shay’s opinion. He wants something to happen, and the continued calm pulls uncomfortably at his skin like an itch he cannot scratch. And to make matters worse it begins to snow, the fluffy, ephemeral snow of early winter that falls but won't stick, so that any time one of them has to go outside, they come back damp through and unhappy.

It doesn't bother Shay much—he’s had enough close encounters in the north Atlantic to be well past the point of caring how wet he gets—but it bothers his visitors. And _that_ bothers him. Edward in particular looks like he would benefit from being let loose to run around the block a few times.

And then, on the eighth day, Ezio comes to him. "Hey," he says.

"Hey… what?"

"We're going to get Eighteen tonight," Ezio says, and he looks deeply unhappy about it.

"For real this time?" Shay asks. "We're not just planting more surveillance, or something?"

"No," Ezio says. "We're really bringing her back. Assuming nothing goes wrong."

"Has something _already_ gone wrong?" Shay asks. "I'm confused. Why are you acting like this is a bad thing?"

"Because…" Ezio hesitates. "Look, Shay, the only way we can do this is without Desmond."

"Wait, Ezio, hang on—"

"I've been talking to some of the others," Ezio says, in a voice that is absolutely serious. "Last time we went, Desmond went into Eighteen's cell to see her. And… that's what he _should_ have done, it was the only thing he could do if he wanted to be a father to his daughter. But we're all really lucky that his running off like that didn't get us all caught, or put Eighteen in danger. He doesn't think clearly around her, and so… we're going to have to do this without telling Desmond anything."

"No," Shay says at once. "That's the wrong way to do this."

"I thought you'd agree with me," Ezio says. He looks deeply uncomfortable. "You were upset at the time, when Desmond went to talk to Eighteen."

"Well, yes," Shay says. "But that was a different situation. We weren't taking Eighteen with us, so interacting with her was only going to increase the chances of someone finding out about her. It put her in more danger! But now, she's coming back out with us. Desmond's not going to be able to put her in any more danger. He'd be a huge help, if anything. Eighteen already trusts him."

Ezio nods, miserably, and Shay narrows his eyes. "What's really going on here?" he asks. "Where is all this suddenly coming from, Ezio? Because I'm pretty sure it's not coming from you."

"Fine," Ezio says. "It's coming from Desmond's father."

"What? Why are you suddenly William's mouthpiece?"

"Because he's an awful father," Ezio says, which doesn't do much to make things clearer. "But every once in a while, he tries, and ever since he gave me that phone for talking to Clay, I… I _think_ he's been trying. He asked me to keep him in the loop about what's going on with Clay and Eighteen, so I have been—it's nothing Clay hasn't been telling Desmond as well," he adds quickly, maybe picking up on Shay's sudden suspicion. "I'm not going behind his back or anything. But this morning, he told me he's been talking to Rebecca, and that she's figured out a safe way to get Eighteen out, from the data we got last time."

"But?"

"But… he kind of insisted Desmond be kept out of the loop," Ezio says. "I don't think it's the right way to do this, but like I said, at least he's trying now."

"I don't know if trying is enough, at this point," Shay says.

Ezio shrugs helplessly. "I know," he says. "But I'm on his side, this time. The rest of us will all be there. Eighteen will be safe, and this time, she'll be back here. With Desmond."

"We won't all be there," Shay insists stubbornly. "I won't be a part of this if Desmond doesn't know about it."

" _Shay_ —"

"No," Shay says. "Listen, I understand that this is complicated. I get that William must have been pretty persuasive, because he convinced you. But I happen to disagree, and I'll stay here with Desmond, thanks."

Ezio nods. "That's fair enough. But you won't _tell_ him, will you?"

"Not before you leave," Shay says, after a moment's indecision. "But as soon as you're gone."

He and Ezio frown at each other, and Shay thinks Ezio must be as unhappy as he is at the way this has turned out. It's been a while since it really felt like they were on different sides, and it's not a good feeling. "Sorry," he says.

"So am I," Ezio agrees.

"Do you think…" Shay frowns. "Honestly, is this William trying to be a good father, or is it about him trying to make sure we all know he's Desmond's father, and that Haytham isn't? This just seems like exactly the kind of mud stirring trick that's intended to start arguments."

"He wouldn't do that," Ezio says, but he sounds doubtful. "Would he?"

Shay thinks he would, but he stays silent. There's no point in making things worse than they have to be. Arguing will only make it harder for anyone that does go to do their jobs well, and they all want Eighteen to be brought safely home. "Good luck," Shay says eventually, and then he ducks away before the conversation can get any worse.

He isn't quite planning to seek out Desmond, it just… happens. Desmond's up on the roof, arm wrapped around his knees, looking morose and damp and just very pathetic with snow gradually gathering on his hair and the shoulders of his hoodie.

"Oh," Shay says softly. "You already know?"

"Haytham told me," Desmond says. "He said Ezio talked to him about going to get Eighteen without me. Then Haytham came and talked to me about it. Said he didn't want to do anything without my permission."

"And what did you say?"

Desmond shrugs. "I get it. Dad's persuasive. Maybe he's even right this time. When we were there before, I couldn't think straight, I couldn't think about anything but Eighteen. I still feel like I'm walking around in like—like this fog." He makes a sharp gesture toward the side of his head. "I want to see her, of course I do, but I'm worried that I'll make some stupid mistake because I'm not thinking. I'd rather just get her home safe, even if I'm not the one to do it."

Shay offers Desmond his hand. "Come on," he says, rather than trying to answer that. "You won't do any good to anyone if you catch a cold."

Desmond lets Shay help him back to his feet, and then he sneezes.

"See?" Shay scolds, and Desmond laughs. He's not laughing for long, though, because while the first sneeze is funny, the second (and third and fourth) are more worrisome. By the time they're back inside, Desmond is shivering and sniffling.

"Go to bed," Shay tells him.

"But—" The rest of the building is a hive of activity just at the moment, even if most of it is the surreptitious movement of people that still think their plans are a secret. They obviously don't know Haytham had told Desmond. Everyone else has something to do, some part to play, and Shay and Desmond are left at loose ends, the only two unmoving people in the building. "Fine," Desmond grumbles, and he disappears into his own room.

By 4:30, Shay and Desmond are alone in the warehouse, although Desmond is in his room and trying to sleep. The last time Shay had looked in on him (not something he'd normally have done, but these are not normal circumstances), he'd been taking some kind of cold medicine and bundling up under his blankets. Shay leaves him on his own and goes back to the common room to try and read for a while. He hasn't gotten very far when Desmond comes out and sits on the couch next to him, still wrapped up in his blanket. His eyes are hazy, and Shay thinks whatever medicine Desmond had taken must have been strong.

"Desmond," Shay sighs, closing his book and looking at the other man. "You should be in bed."

Desmond shrugs. "I tried," he says. "Couldn't sleep."

"You'll feel better if—"

"What if this is a sign?" Desmond interrupts. "Getting sick right before Eighteen comes home, I mean?"

"I think it's probably a sign that you shouldn't sit on damp rooftops in the snow," Shay says cautiously.

"Seriously!" He sneezes again and wipes his nose on his blanket. Shay reaches over and hands him a tissue box. "Thanks," Desmond mutters. "But Shay—I don't know how to do this! What if I'm like my dad, and she _hates_ me?"

"Do you hate your father, Desmond?"

He shrugs. "Sometimes. I don't know. But I don't want to be like him."

"Alright," Shay says. "First of all, Desmond, you're nothing like your father. Don't worry about that. Second, she won't hate you."

"You don't know that," Desmond says.

"I thought every single one of my children would hate me before they were born," Shay says. "It was the worst with Phillippe, because he was the first. But every time Aveline was pregnant, I thought… what if I mess it up, what if they're miserable, what if they hate me? I think it might be a hazard of the profession—assassins, templars, we all see so many people die, we see so much pointless _hatred_ , we can't stop imagining it all around us. Even in our own children."

"But your kids love you," Desmond mutters. "I've seen you with them, on visits."

Shay nods, and tries not to think about how Rory hadn't come to see him when he was dying. "The fear goes away," he says. "Eventually. Mostly. Every time one of them smiled at me, every hug I got, every time they were happy or proud of some achievement, the fear was a little less."

"What about Aveline?" Desmond asks. "Did she have the same fear?"

Shay laughs. "She always _said_ she didn't, anyway."

"Do you miss her?" Desmond asks. Then he flushes. "Sorry, stupid question. Of course you do."

"I miss her so much it hurts," Shay says simply. "Do you remember that time I fell into freezing water, and you helped me out of it? Took over my body long enough for Haytham to rescue me?"

"I remember," Desmond says. "It sucked."

Shay nods. "I feel just like that all the time now. Like I can't get enough air into my lungs, like I'm numb all over. I feel like I haven't come back all the way, like part of me is still dead and will _stay_ dead until Aveline is here too."

Desmond nods, but doesn't look entirely convinced. Mostly he just looks tired and sick. Shay sighs. "Go back to bed," he says, as kindly as he can manage. "Get some sleep, and maybe you'll feel better in the morning." He watches as Desmond nods and shuffles back toward his room. In the doorway, he stops and turns around, a frown etched across his face. "I don't know what to do," he says. "I know… I know I _can't_ treat her like dad treated me, but I don't know anything else."

"Smile," Shay says bluntly. "If you go around frowning all the time, that's not going to help her at all. And second… do you really want my advice?"

"Well, yea."

"Treat her the way Haytham treats you," Shay says. "There's your example."

He knows he's said the right thing by the way Desmond's face clears, his frown smoothing away and the worried wrinkles on his forehead vanishing. "I can do that," he says. "And… thanks, Shay."


	20. Chapter 20

They time their arrival for ten minutes before five, right when the building will be emptying out. After their first break in, Rebecca's been working on circumventing the computerized security (Connor has no idea how that works, but Rebecca is good at her job and he trusts her), so supposedly, and assuming nothing goes wrong, no one will ever know they're here.

The floors housing Abstergo's facilities in this building are nearly empty, apart from the ever present glint of cameras in every corner. Connor presses his finger against the uncomfortable weight of the earpiece he's wearing, frowning at the feeling. All his life, he's been talking to invisible people—this is just a little bit different from his visitors. "Rebecca?" he says quietly. "Are you sure the cameras are outline?"

"Offline," she corrects. Her voice sounds crystal clear in his ear, like she's standing right in front of him, instead of sitting safely in the car several blocks away with William and Shaun. "And yes, I set them up to show a loop from last night."

"I don't see why we didn't do this the first time," Edward complains.

"We didn't have the cameras on our side the first time," Haytham reminds him. "Now we do, and that makes everything easier."

The four of them continue on in silence after that, because no one is _supposed_ to be here, but that doesn't mean they can afford to get complacent. On the way over, they'd discussed the best way to get this done—they'd all agreed that four heavily armed people walking into Eighteen's room would be overwhelming for her. In the end (and to William's intense disapproval), they'd decided Haytham should be the one to actually get her out. Mostly because he was the one Desmond would most likely have trusted her with, if he'd been there to voice his opinion.

The other three are splitting up to patrol the three Abstergo owned floors, to make sure no one will stumble onto their escape attempts. Edward goes up to the top floor, Ezio stays where he is, and Connor climbs up to the middle floor with his father. Everything goes perfectly for about a minute and a half, just long enough for them to take the stairs up to Eighteen's floor. Then, just as they're about to open the stairwell door, someone else opens it heading down.

For half a second, the four of them just stare at one another in surprised silence, Connor and Haytham and the two Abstergo guards headed downstairs. The guard standing in front of Haytham reacts first, jerking a hand up to his mouth. He's holding something black and boxy that crackles like a radio, and while Connor still isn't great with twenty first century machines, he assumes it's meant to call for backup.

"Intruders!" he shouts, into the box. "Intruders, on the—"

Haytham curses and lunges at the man, blades going right through the guard's throat. He drops the box and falls, clutching his neck and gurgling against the rising blood flooding into his mouth.

"Go!" Haytham shouts at Connor, as the second guard pulls a gun on him.

"But the plan—"

"I think the plan is pretty well in pieces by now, don't you?" Haytham grunts, now busy with the guard.

" _Already?_ " William growls, into their earpieces.

"Get her and go," Haytham snaps at Connor. "Go! Before backup gets here."

Edward's (darkly cheerful) voice in Connor's ear announces that they're already upstairs, and Connor groans as he runs toward Eighteen's cell. "Why are there so many of them here?" he asks. "I thought it was supposed to be all computerized at night!"

"It is," Rebecca confirms. She sounds concerned. "They _shouldn't_ be here."

"They're moving her," Ezio says grimly. Even over the earpiece, Connor hears the heavy thud of a body falling to the ground. "This one talked. Apparently Eighteen let it slip to someone that her father was here, and someone decided it was a good idea to move her."

"Damn it, Desmond!" William says.

"Don't you dare!" Haytham snaps.

"Hey!" Shaun protests. His voice sounds higher than usual, possibly from the stress. "We all want the same thing here, remember?"

"Rebecca," Connor says. "I need…" but the words die on his lips before he can finish asking for the code to Eighteen's cell door. It's already open, and Connor slows to a walk, forcing himself to stay calm. He crouches behind the wall next to the door, and switches to eagle vision. Two large men, glowing a bloody red, appear at once, holding a third person between them. Eighteen, it has to be. She's tiny and blue in Connor's vision, and… and anyway, now that he's still and listening he can hear terrified, high pitched sobs coming from inside the room.

This is going to be tricky. From what Connor can tell, Abstergo doesn't _want_ to lose Eighteen, but he doesn't really believe they'll go out of their way to protect her if a fight breaks out. Connor is going to have to move carefully here to make sure she isn't harmed—

"Shut up!" one of the guards growls, and Connor hears a noise like the handle of a gun hitting flesh. The crying stops abruptly, and Eighteen's body slumps in the guard's arm.

On the other hand, there is absolutely no way that Connor is going to let those men live another thirty seconds, not after what they've just done.

He shakes his head to return his vision to normal, and ducks around the corner of the wall. He stays low to the ground as he takes in the scene, pinpointing everyone's location, then lunges upward toward the closest guard before either of them have the chance to so much as shout. The man dies in a spray of blood and one last, horrified gasp, but the other guard manages to bring up a gun (the same one he'd hit Eighteen with?) and manages to get a shot off. It whistles past Connor's head, coming within inches of his left ear, but Connor barely notices. He narrows his eyes and the guard visibly flinches.

But he also lets go of Eighteen, letting her drop to the ground with a heavy thud, and that's the last thing Connor ever lets him do. Eighteen is Desmond's daughter, and Desmond is a visitor and one of the few people in this century Connor really trusts.

And anyway, what kind of animal treats a child like this? No. Connor kills him without a single moment of hesitation, and then kicks his body away from where Eighteen has fallen. He crouches over her, gently feeling for her pulse against the side of her neck. It's fast, but steady, and Connor breathes a sigh of relief.

"I have her," he says, picking Eighteen up as carefully as he can. There is blood on the side of her head where his fingers brush against her hair. "She's unconscious and bleeding, but her breathing is normal and her color is good."

"Don't bring her out yet," Ezio warns sharply. "There are too many guards on this floor."

"I'm almost done here," Haytham says. "I'll come down and help when I can."

"Let me know when it's safe to bring her," Connor says, and he sits down against the wall, in a place where he can watch the doorway without being seen from the hall. He's just managed to get Eighteen into a secure position, when he notices the little Clay drone bumping up against his knee, almost like he's trying to get Connor's attention.

"What?" Connor asks, frowning down at the drone. "What's wrong now?"

Clay buzzes away from him to the other side of the room, to circle a little pile of fabric on the floor. When Connor doesn't react, Clay flies into the fabric, nudging it slowly across the floor toward Connor.

"Oh!" Connor says at last, bending over to pick it up—it's _not_ a loose scrap of fabric, as he'd thought, but a stuffed lion. He holds it uncertainly in the hand that isn't supporting Eighteen. Isn't this Desmond's?

His movement seems to have shaken Eighteen awake (to Connor's intense relief), and her eyes are pure misery as she looks up at him, wet and hollow. She whimpers and reaches for the lion with one hand, but the motion is almost hopeless, like she doesn't actually believe Connor will let her have it.

"Kitty," she whines. "Kitty _please!_ "

The sound is heartbreaking, and Connor immediately presses the lion into her grasping hand. Eighteen snatches it in close, wrapping her whole body protectively around the stuffed animal and starting to cry.

"It's okay," Connor says, doing his best to comfort her. "We're going to take you away, somewhere safe."

"No," Eighteen protests. "No, daddy's coming back _here_! I want daddy…"

"He couldn't come," Connor tries to explain. "He's waiting for you at home."

She just cries harder. Clay circles her in concern, and she holds out a hand for the little drone to land on. When he does, she tucks him into her chest next to the lion. It seems to make her feel at least a little bit better, because the crying drops in volume a little bit.

"Alright," Haytham says, after what feels like a very long time. "Connor, it's safe to take her out. There's no one left to try and harm her."

Connor nods, although he knows his father can't see him, and stands carefully, pressing Eighteen's face into his shoulder so she won't see the dead bodies as he steps over them. She keeps protesting, in a voice muffled both by his shoulders and by her own tears, begging for him to stay because her daddy won't be able to find her if she leaves.

Which would almost be funny, if it weren't so tragic—Connor's pretty sure Desmond would move heaven and earth to find Eighteen, no matter where anyone takes her.

She cries herself out right around the time the five of them reach the van waiting two blocks away on the street. Soon enough, the rocking movement of the van on the road lulls her into an exhausted sleep, and Connor sighs. "Well," he says. "That went…" He hesitates, not sure whether to qualify this as a success. Technically they have Eighteen, but she's hurt and upset, and they'd had to leave a trail of corpses behind them to get her out. Abstergo won't be eager to let that offense slide.

"She's here," Haytham says firmly. "That's what matters."

"She's hurt,” William says sharply, half turning to glare daggers at Haytham, like it’s his fault some Abstergo goon had hit his granddaughter in the head. Connor shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe if he'd gotten to Eighteen faster…

“The important thing is that she won't be ever again,” Ezio says into the frosty silence. “Not while any of us has anything to say about it.”

“Did anyone tell Desmond we have Eighteen with us?” Haytham asks.

“I tried calling him,” Shaun volunteers. “But he's not answering his phone for some reason.”

“That's weird,” Rebecca says. “I sort of figured he'd be glued to it until he hears from us.”

"I'm sure nothing's wrong," Shaun says, in a voice loud and uncomfortable enough to make it clear that he is in fact sure of no such thing.

But when they finally (after two or three hours of evasive driving) make it back to the warehouse, all they find is Shay in the common area reading a book and looking tired. When he explains that Desmond had felt under the weather and taken some cold medicine to help him sleep, everyone visibly relaxes.

"So nothing's wrong," William says. "He just managed to get himself sick."

"I'm sure he did it on purpose," Haytham says drily. "Specifically to spite you."

Connor sighs as his father and Desmond's start sniping at each other, and carries Eighteen into Desmond's room. She's still fast asleep, and Connor finds Desmond in much the same condition. For a moment he stands still in the near darkness of the bedroom, listening to the soft sound of the two of them breathing. Then he smiles a little, and tucks Eighteen into bed next to Desmond. Carefully, so he won't wake either of them.

The moment he's done that, a great sense of peace seems to fall onto his shoulders. Connor believes in the choices he's made, he believes in the cause he fights for. But there's no getting around the fact that he's a killer, and sometimes it is hard to make the connection between the corpses he leaves behind him and the good it will eventually lead to. Rarely does he get to see that good as plainly as he does today, with Eighteen wiggling gradually backward toward her father's chest, and Desmond smiling a little in his sleep.

Connor watches them for a moment longer, then leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him.


	21. Chapter 21

Desmond has always slept better with other people in bed with him, and his first, fuzzy thought when he wakes up is that it's awfully nice that someone thought to crawl up into bed with him just now. Especially when he's so worried about Eighteen. For a few minutes he lets himself just enjoy the warmth that comes from sharing his bed, and doesn't think anything else about it.

But then his brain fights its way through the first layer of cold medicine fueled sleep. Desmond realizes that if there's someone in bed with him, it must have been one of the people that went after Eighteen last night. So if—if they're in here with him, trying to make him feel better, it must be because something went wrong with Eighteen.

He sighs and squeezes his eyes more tightly closed, a futile attempt to drive away the real world. Waking up is too painful right now. He doesn't want to know what went wrong, he doesn't want to hear that they'll have to try again later, or that she was taken away or (his body goes cold and his breath catches in his throat) that she's been hurt.

Maybe killed?

No…

He has to know. There's no way the truth can be worse than the possibilities he's lying here, dreaming up. Knowing for sure, one way or the other, will be better than wondering. Desmond opens his eyes. And then he closes them, and opens them again, and rubs at them, and _she's still there_. Eighteen. She's— _what_? She's here. Just inches away. Desmond can feel the warmth of her tucked against him, the little dip in the mattress where her weight pulls it down. She looks pale and sad (and is that _blood_ on her hair?), and she's squeezing her lion tight. But she’s here.

Desmond pulls his arm out from under the blankets, reaches out toward her—but then he stops, not quite touching. He's scared that if he touches her she'll vanish, the product of wishful thinking and cold medicine. After a very long moment, Desmond touches his finger against one of hers, and it's real, it's tiny and perfect and impossible. But there it is. He closes his hand over both of hers, and he can't believe how small they are, how fragile, how soft and warm and alive. He can't believe she's really here.

Eighteen starts to stir under his touch, and Desmond draws back quickly, sitting up in bed as her eyes blink open. She reaches up with one hand (the other one won't let go of her lion) and rubs at her eyes. Desmond is just about to say something when she makes a sleepy, grumbling noise and flips over, resettling herself on her other side without seeming to see him at all.

Well… okay then.

What's he supposed to do now? Wake her up? Let her sleep?

The problem is solved for him when Clay flies up from the blankets next to Eighteen's head, nudging her shoulder gently. She mumbles something and bats him away, but Clay doesn't give up. "Clay!" Eighteen complains. "Clay, no! Sleepy!" She opens her eyes and reaches out for him, turning her head to follow him as he flies away and lands on Desmond's lap.

Her eyes, heavy and squinty with sleep, suddenly fly open. Eighteen gasps and jerks backward, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in surprise. She stays like that for a full thirty seconds, staring at Desmond without so much as blinking. Then she takes her hands away from her mouth, reaching cautiously toward him. "Daddy?"

Desmond's eyes are wet, and he can't get so much as a single word out so he nods instead. For a second he can't move, and then suddenly he can't force himself to sit still. He reaches over for Eighteen, scooping her up and hugging her as tightly as he possibly can. Eighteen's arms reach around his neck, holding tight like she'll never let go, and Desmond catches himself praying that she won't. This is… this is perfect. Desmond hasn't felt this whole in his entire life, not ever. He hadn’t realized until just this moment that he’s been missing something all these years, but now that he knows that something is Eighteen, he doesn’t know how he could ever have lived without her. For the first time in nearly three years, he doesn't even miss his arm. It doesn't seem important, compared to the squirming bundle pressed up against him now. "Daddy," Eighteen whispers. "Stay?"

"Yea," Desmond whispers back. "Yea, baby, I promise."

She squeaks and buries her face in his shoulder, and Desmond can feel her smile through the thin fabric of the T-shirt he'd gone to sleep in. He starts to say something and then pauses, realizing he has no idea how to address her. "Hey," he says softly. "What did people call you in… in that place where you were?"

"The people there said Subject Eighteen," she says, and although Desmond hadn't expected anything else, he's still upset to hear that's all she's known for the whole of her life.

"Well, that's no good," he says. "You need a name."

Eighteen looks at him doubtfully, and Desmond finds himself scrambling to come up with… something. Anything. Maybe something that _sounds_ like Eighteen? To keep her from getting confused? "What about Eileen?" Desmond asks, and she gives him a weird look before shaking her head firmly. "Alright then. Um… Edie?"

"Ick."

"Elena—"

" _Yes,_ " Eighteen says. She sounds almost exasperated, if anything, like Desmond should have known that already. "That's me!"

"Alright then," Desmond says. "Elena." Then he says it again, testing it out on his tongue. _"Elena."_

 _"Daddy,_ " Elena says, in the same satisfied tone. Then she frowns, and leans closer to Desmond's ear, whispering. "Daddy, food?"

"Are you hungry?"

"Always," Elena says promptly.

"Well, let's see if we can't do something about that," Desmond says, and he carefully maneuvers himself out of bed without dropping her. "What do you like to eat?"

"Food..?" She scrunches up her eyebrows and looks at him uncomprehendingly.

"What do you usually eat?"

"Gray stuff," Elena says. "And brown stuff." She makes a face and sticks out her tongue. "Sometimes _green_ stuff. Ick."

Out in the common room, Shay and Connor are sitting across the table from each other, talking quietly and intensely. Ezio is sprawled out on one of the couches, reading something. He looks up first when Desmond carries Elena in, and a broad smile stretches suddenly across his face. "Desmond!" he calls, and Elena flinches visibly in Desmond's arm. "Sorry," Ezio adds, dropping his voice.

He gets up from the couch and waits, vibrating with impatience, while Desmond looks down at Elena. "Hey," he says softly. "It's okay."

"He's loud," Elena whispers, in a voice so quiet Desmond can barely hear it, even with her mouth right up against his ear. "Is he mad?"

"No," Desmond says, and makes a mental note to talk to Edward before letting Elena meet him—if _Ezio_ is too much for her, Edward will be terrifying. "He's just loud. And I'm sure he'll be quieter if you want."

Elena nods without looking at Ezio, and Desmond gives his ancestor an apologetic look that Ezio waves off understandingly. "I'm sorry I scared you," he says, serious and quiet. "Forgive me?"

Elena turns to look at him, and nods the tiniest fraction.

"Elena," Desmond says. "This is Ezio. Ezio, Elena."

"That's a beautiful name," Ezio says, and Elena smiles a little. He looks up at Desmond. "When did you come up with it?"

"It's my _name_!" Elena blurts out, and then she flushes as Ezio laughs.

"We're looking for food," Desmond tells Ezio, trying to change the subject.

" _Not_ green stuff," Elena says. Her voice is firm, but her eyes glance sideways at Desmond, like she's checking if it's okay to give her opinion.

He grins at her, because he wants nothing more than to hear her opinion on every conceivable subject, and carries her over to where Shay and Connor are watching the conversation mostly in silence. Elena sees them and at once starts squirming so much that Desmond has to either let go or drop her—she immediately goes running back to Desmond's room at top speed.

"Ah—" Desmond shrugs helplessly at the two of them. "Sorry. I have no idea what that was for."

"I think I scared her last night," Connor admits, looking supremely guilty. "She was worried you wouldn't be able to find her if I took her away."

But then Elena is running back (this time with Clay swooping along behind her), holding her lion. She offers it up to Connor. "Kitty says thank you for letting her come too," she tells him. "She would have been scared if she had to stay by herself."

"Ah, well—" He looks vaguely pleased, and pats the lion awkwardly on the head. "You're welcome."

Elena smiles at him (and Desmond notices that her smiles are getting progressively bigger and more confident), and sits down under the table. Desmond can hear her down there, talking quietly to--he assumes--the lion and to Clay, and decides that she's happy enough for the moment. He goes looking for some kind of food that would be better than 'gray stuff and brown stuff and green stuff.' He looks around at Ezio, who happens to be closest. "Hey," he hisses. "You had kids. What do you feed a toddler?"

They eventually settle on cheerios and yogurt, and Elena eats it on the floor with one hand wrapped around (for some reason) Connor's leg. Desmond might have been jealous, except that when she's done eating she comes back to him, and refuses to leave his side. It's a good feeling, to know she needs him as desperately as he needs her. Nobody has ever needed Desmond like that.

"Oh," Shay says, while Desmond gets to eating his own breakfast, Elena safely sitting on his lap. She leans against his chest, with the lion—or Kitty, as she seems to have renamed it—on _her_ lap. "Desmond, how are you feeling this morning? Still sick?"

He shrugs—he hasn't really thought about it since getting up. Now that he's been reminded, he can't help noticing his runny nose and slightly sore throat, but Elena is the best medicine he's ever had. It's hard to concentrate on things like that when his daughter is sitting on his lap, real and (relatively) well. He brushes her hair back behind her ear, noticing again the traces of blood there. At least she seems otherwise unharmed.

"I'm fine," he says, and immediately sneezes. Shay smiles like he understands. "Where's everyone else?"

"Sleeping, I think," Connor says. "We didn't get back until late last night."

"I didn't think Haytham ever slept in late," Desmond says, trying to hide his disappointment. He'd been really looking forward to introducing Elena to Haytham.

"Ah, well…" Connor hesitates. "My father and yours had an argument early this morning. I don't know what it was about, but father went out after that."

"He said he'd be back when he's had a chance to clear his head," Shay adds.

"Actually, he said he'd be back when he remembers why it would be a bad idea to stab William," Ezio mutters. "I'm really starting to worry about the two of them."

"What, just now?" Shay asks. The conversation stutters and dies out, which Elena seems to take as an invitation to change the subject.

"Daddy," she says, tilting her head back to look at him. "Where did your hand go?" She pokes at what's left of his arm, and Desmond fights back the instinct to jerk away.

"It's not a big deal," he mutters. "Just, um… I just had an accident."

"What? No." Ezio scoffs dismissively, and Elena turns curiously to him. "Elena, do you want to hear how your daddy saved the whole world?"

"Ezio—"

"Yes!" Elena cries, right over Desmond's objection. Ezio grins at her and leans conspiratorially across the table. She leans forward too, although not far enough to slip off Desmond's lap, and listens in wide eyed awe as Ezio tells her about what had happened in the temple almost three years ago. He doesn't tell the whole story—it's sort of a cleaned up version of what had actually happened—but he doesn't lie, either. Desmond squirms uncomfortably throughout, trying to fight off the flush rising up his neck and into his face.

He hates thinking about that day. Because yes, technically he'd saved the world, but he'd never felt like he was doing anything noble. He'd just been doing what he had to, and he'd been terrified the whole time. When Ezio is done, Desmond opens his mouth to change the subject. But before he can, Elena twists around and looks up at him, eyes shining and bright. She's looking at him like he's her own personal hero, and… well, maybe that's okay.


	22. Chapter 22

Edward wakes up with someone else in bed with him, and assumes it must be Desmond. It's always Desmond, which is fine (Edward likes cuddling Desmond), but he wishes more of his visitors would just jump into bed with them once in a while. Sharing a bed with people is nice. Sharing a bed with lots of people is better. 

He half opens his eyes, and sort of thinks Desmond is dressed funny, but that's okay. Desmond can wear whatever he wants. Edward wraps his arms around Desmond and ignores the confused noise of protest that follows. Except then suddenly Desmond's hands are on his chest, pushing him back, hard, and—

Wait a second. Desmond doesn't have _hands_ , he has _hand_. Edward goes from comfortably sleepy to wide awake in about one second flat. He pushes back, eyes flying open, and gets an elbow in his face for his troubles. Edward hits back as blood goes dripping from his nose, and then freezes suddenly as he realizes who this is.

"Altair!" he shouts. "Altair, _stop!_ "

"I wasn't the one that started the fight," Altair says stiffly, after a moment’s awkward pause.

"But I wasn't fighting you!" Edward protests. "I was cuddling!"

Altair gives him a look that strongly implies (first of all) that this is the same thing, and (second of all) that Edward is an idiot. Still, he sits up and gives Edward enough space to do the same. "Where are we?" he asks. "The last I remember was sitting down to die. I had just spoken to Ezio and Desmond."

"I heard about that. From _them_ ," Edward says pointedly. "I don't know why you didn't invite the rest of us. We would have liked to say goodbye."

"Yes, of course," Altair says flatly. "Next time I die, I'll send you an engraved invitation. Specifically _you_ , Edward. You can be the guest of honor."

Edward gives Altair a confused sideways look. "Did you come back with a sense of sarcasm? Because I know you didn't have that before you died."

Altair doesn't quite look at him. "Perhaps I simply missed you all," he says stiffly.

"You like us!" Edward shouts, and then Altair is shouting too, but his shouting is angry because Edward is hugging him and Altair clearly isn't planning to stand for this.

"Edward, get _off_ —"

"Not likely!"

"I know!" Altair mumbles a curse and tries to push Edward away again, but this time Edward is prepared and holding more tightly. "That's exactly my problem!"

The door opens, and Connor comes in, looking exasperated. "Edward," he complains. "I know it's difficult for you, but—" And then he sees Altair, and stops, suddenly smiling. "Altair."

"That's why I was excited," Edward explains. "Surely you can't blame me for that!"

"Well, no," Connor says. "But you're shouting at each other and it's got Elena terrified."

"Who?" Edward asks. Then it clicks, and he beams at Connor. "Did Desmond name her? Are they both awake? Can we meet her? Is she still upset? Is she _okay_? You said she got hit on the head yesterday, is she hurt? Is—"

"She's fine," Connor interrupts. "Except that now she won't stop crying because the two of you are shouting at each other, and she thinks she's in trouble for something."

"Oops," Edward says, dropping his voice immediately to a whisper.

"I feel like I'm missing something," Altair says, glancing between Edward and Connor. "What's going _on_ here?"

Edward immediately launches into a loud, mile-a-minute explanation, which lasts approximately thirty seconds before Connor is shushing him again. "Sorry," Edward says, and Connor shakes his head.

"I’m really starting to not believe that," he says, and then gives Altair a much calmer, clearer (and, to Edward's mind, less _interesting_ ) version of everything he's missed while being dead. At the end of it, Altair nods.

"I'm glad this is the way things have turned out," he says thoughtfully. "In my later years, after Maria and Sef were… when I was alone and growing old, I often wished my visits never had to end. The seven of you, as obnoxious and inconvenient as you frequently were —" He looks pointedly at Edward. "You still made life better than it would have been."

Edward smiles and starts to move closer to Altair.

"Do not hug me," the older assassin says flatly.

Edward huffs and leaves to find something to catch the blood still dripping from his nose. Almost everyone is there, excluding Haytham and Desmond. And Eighteen, of course. Elena. _Elena!_ Edward _likes_ the name. He almost smiles, but the expression fades as he realizes he can hear her crying from inside Desmond's room, muffled but still audible through the wall. He hadn't meant to scare her…

Clearly he had, however unintentionally, and Edward feels suddenly guilty. He drops into a seat at the edge of their little group, and doesn't join the others as they move to welcome Altair. He doesn't really want to talk to anyone at the moment, apart from possibly to Elena, to apologize, but William sits down next to him anyway.

Great. Because if he'd had to pick someone he _least_ wanted to talk to, it would probably have been William Miles. But the man looks unusually sympathetic. "Desmond used to cry like that," he says.

"What?" Edward glances sideways at William. "All children cry."

"Do they?" William sighs. "I've been an assassin my entire life, and there have been precious few children in that life. I knew infants cried but… things were different when Desmond got to be two or three. He wasn't crying because he needed something, he was crying because… I don't know. I didn't understand then and I still don't, but that was when Desmond started crying because he was afraid and sad. The same way Elena cries." He sighs again. "I'm just concerned. I don't _enjoy_ knowing children are miserable, whatever certain people might think."

Edward assumes, because Haytham is nowhere to be found, that he is 'certain people'. "She'll be happy eventually," Edward says, as much to reassure himself as to reassure William. "If nothing else, she has Desmond now, and he—"

"Has no idea what he's doing?" William says bitterly.

Edward shakes his head and smiles. "I was going to say that he's obviously been waiting his whole life for someone to love like that."

William makes a face, and Edward isn't entirely surprised to see the other man's skepticism. He doesn't seem to value things like _love_ as much as Desmond does. "Did you really mean it when you said all children cry?" he asks doubtfully. "Did yours?"

"Sure," Edward says. "Well—I mean, I missed most of Jenny's childhood. And I never met Jacob at all, apart from once or twice when I visited people that happened to be near her. But Haytham certainly cried. Less and less as he got older, but he cried."

"You have a _daughter_ called Jacob?" William asks.

"I didn't name her," Edward mutters. "And I'm sure there's a story there, but… I don't know it."

"Hmm," William says. " _Children_. Sometimes I wonder if they're worth it at all. With all the pain and worry they put us through, it seems unjustifiable that we should still want them in our lives."

"What are you saying?" Edward asks. "Are you really telling me kids _aren't worth it_? That _Desmond_ isn't worth it?"

When William doesn't answer right away, when he seems to be legitimately struggling to decide what to say, Edward stands abruptly, shaking his head.

"Of course they're worth it," he says. "Of course."

And to prove his point, he walks away from the conversation and knocks on Desmond's door. He doesn't wait for an answer, but goes in immediately. Elena is sitting cross legged on the bed, and Desmond is on a desk chair in front of her. She's winding down from her cry, so that only the occasional little sniff and the trembling around her mouth betrays that she'd been sobbing a few minutes ago.

"Does that feel good?" Desmond asks, as Edward comes in. He isn't looking at Edward though, his entire attention is fixed on Elena. He's gently wiping the side of her head with a wet cloth, in the place where she'd been hit during the escape yesterday.

Elena nods, but her face is still worried. She looks up and sees Edward, and it's hard for him to watch the way her face closes up suddenly. She whimpers and pushes herself off the bed, propelling herself onto Desmond's lap. Desmond looks up at Edward and makes a sad face.

"Hey," Edward says awkwardly. "I wanted to apologize—"

"Shouty voice," Elena whispers. "No being mad! I was good…"

"I know you were," Desmond says, rubbing her back gently until she calms slightly. "Nobody here is mad at you." 

Well, apart from William, possibly. Edward wouldn't put it past the man, after the conversation they'd just had. Desmond turns Elena around to face Edward, and she eyes him doubtfully.

"This is Edward," he tells her. "He's very weird—" Elena manages to crack a smile. "But I promise, he's nice."

"And I would never yell at you," Edward promises. "I was yelling at someone else, but we, ah, we weren't really mad at each other." He makes a big show of shrugging. "What can I say? You just have a very loud family. But we all love you very much. _Almost_ as much as your dad."

"No way," Elena says promptly, suddenly becoming animated. "Daddy loves me _big_ love!" She stretches out both arms, as widely as she can. " _This_ big!"

Edward feigns disbelief. "No way," he scoffs.

"Yes!" Elena insists, and Edward notes with amusement that she can be quite loud herself, when she wants to be. "He told me so!"

"But that's so much love!" Edward protests. "I don't believe anyone can love _that_ much."

"Daddy can," Elena says proudly, and she curls up on Desmond's lap in a satisfied way, apparently convinced that there is no possible comeback to this argument. Edward grins at her, and waits patiently while Desmond gets his face-splitting smile under control.

"I was just about to give her a bath," he tells Edward at last. "I want to see how bad that cut on her head looks without the blood. And well—honestly she could probably smell a little better."

Elena looks up at him and sticks out her tongue, giggling.

"How?" Edward asks. "I know there's showers in the old employee locker rooms, but she's kind of small for that, isn't she?"

Desmond shrugs. "I thought I'd fill up one of those big buckets lying around downstairs," he says. "But I could use a hand, if you have one to spare."

Edward hates baths, even when they're not his. But for Desmond and Elena, he'll make an exception. "Sure," he says, and for the next half hour or so he's kept busy helping Desmond clean out the bucket he's got in mind (a big plastic thing, almost four feet across, one of the many random things that had been left in the warehouse when they moved in). Then, while Desmond slowly coaxes Elena into the water, Edward sits back with a piece of wood he'd found on the floor, and gets to work on it with his hidden blade.

He's not much of a craftsman, but by the time Elena is safely in the water, Edward has managed to hollow out the wood and reshape it into something that is recognizably a ship. He brings it over to Elena and sits down in front of her bucket. She's on her feet, putting them almost on the same level.

"Hi," Edward says. She cocks her head and just studies him. Edward grins at her as enthusiastically as he can, and eventually she smiles too. "I brought you a present," he says.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to," Edward says simply. "I have a daughter, see." Or maybe _had_ is a better word—Edward tries not to think about how long Jenny has been dead. "And she always used to take a toy boat into the bath. I thought maybe you would want to play with one too."

She makes an excited noise when he puts the little wooden boat into the water in front of her, then pushes down on the water so the boat bobs up and down. "What's her name?"

"My daughter?" Edward fights to keep the smile on his face. "Jenny."

"Jenny! Can I play with her?"

Luckily, Desmond jumps in then to distract Elena just then, so Edward never has to explain to her why she won't be able to see Jenny. She must be so desperate for other kids to play with, if she gets this excited at the slightest opportunity to play with some girl she's never met.

Edward is lost in unhappy thoughts for a while after that, and he doesn't hear Desmond and Elena whispering to each other. He _does_ hear Elena say, "Edward?" in a voice of such perfect innocence that it can't possibly be real. He looks up, and Elena _shoves_ at the water in her bucket, sending a huge wave over the edge to soak Edward. He sits there, dripping, mouth open in surprise, as Elena descends into delighted giggling. "Daddy said you needed a bath too," she explains, as Desmond starts laughing too. Edward stares at both of them for a moment or two longer, then grins.

"He's probably right," he says. "But Elena, don't you think your dad needs one?"

"What?" Desmond demands, but his protests doesn't come in time to stop Elena from turning around and splashing water at him, too.

Five minutes later, the tub is nearly empty, and all of them are thoroughly soaked, but smiling.


	23. Chapter 23

Haytham eventually runs out of places to walk, and decides it's probably time to go back to the warehouse. He's not entirely sure that he's ready to deal with William Miles, but he's worried about Desmond and Eighteen. They must be awake by now, and Haytham wants—needs—to know if they're both alright. He needs that more than he needs to be away from William, so he turns around and heads back.

He lets himself in, and is surprised to find the ground floor echoing with excited laughter. High-pitched giggles that come in waves, breaking into occasional, delighted shrieks. Curious now, Haytham follows the source of the noise until he finds Eighteen standing naked in a little tub half filled with water—the rest of the water is all over Desmond and Edward and the floor, and Eighteen looks absolutely determined to dump the water that's left onto her father.

Desmond looks up and sees Haytham, and his face is breathless with laughter and split open in a smile. "Elena," he says, lifting Eighteen (Elena?) out of her tub, putting her carefully on the ground in front of him. "Elena, stop splashing. I want you to meet someone really important."

Edward hands him a (miraculously dry) towel, and Desmond carefully wraps Elena up inside it. She giggles and inches closer to him, so that somehow in the process of being towelled off, Elena ends up wrapped in his arm too. "Who, daddy?"

Desmond lifts her again, cradling her against him even as he walks over to Haytham. Haytham tries to compose himself, starts thinking of what he's going to say. Elena isn't exactly smiling at him, she's got this worried, guarded look on her face instead. How had Haytham convinced Desmond to like him? It had all been kind of a happy accident, and Haytham is not at all sure he can replicate that. Maybe Elena will hate him—Haytham wouldn't blame her if she does.

"Elena," Desmond says, and weirdly enough there's something in his voice that reminds Haytham of what Edward had sounded like when Haytham was very young. It sounds like… pride, maybe. But more complicated, all mixed up with other emotions. "This is your grandpa." Haytham hears a kind of devoted affection in Desmond’s voice, and a gentleness that’s far beyond anything Haytham has heard from him before. And--

Wait a second, what?

"What's a grandpa?" Elena asks, tugging at Desmond's sleeve.

"It's like having a special bonus dad," Desmond says. "He took care of me when I was little like you, and I'm sure you two are going to be very, very good friends."

He doesn't look at Haytham when he says it, doesn't check to make sure Haytham is okay with this like he normally would. There's no sign at all of his usual uncertainty when he holds Elena against him, which is great. Except that Haytham isn't at all sure Elena will want to be friends with him, and he'd prefer that Desmond didn't set him up for failure like this.

And then, to Haytham's horror, Desmond lowers Elena to the ground and starts to back away. "I'm going to find some dry clothes," he says. "You two should make friends."

"Friends?" Elena asks Haytham, looking up at him while Desmond goes hurrying up the stairs. "Be my friend, grandpa?"

Grandpa. No one had ever… Well, Matthew. But that had been different, Matthew had been talking to a gravestone. Elena is looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and her expression is hopeful.

"I do want to," he says carefully. "If you'll have me."

Elena nods. "Daddy likes you," she says, as if this is the only criterion she needs filled. Then she frowns. "What do grandpas do?"

"Well, I… I don't know, actually. I've never had a granddaughter before."

"That's me!" Elena says, jumping up and down. Her wet, bare feet leave tiny footprints on the bare concrete floor. She stops jumping (which is good, because horrible images of her slipping and cracking her head open are suddenly flashing through Haytham's mind) and reaches up to sort of pat him on the arm. "Daddy says he doesn't know how to daddy," she says comfortingly. "But he's good. You can grandpa good too."

She looks so much happier today than she had last night that Haytham almost can't believe she's the same little girl. Her face is redefined by a smile that just won't go away, and her words seem more confident and come more quickly. It's like she's just been waiting, holding herself back until it's safe to be completely _alive_.

Desmond comes back downstairs while Elena is showing Haytham her little wooden boat, and telling him all about how Edward has promised to teach her to be a pirate. Haytham makes a mental note to make sure Edward doesn't say anything _too_ inappropriate to her, and gently steers Elena (still chattering away) toward Desmond. She hops toward him, legs tangled and wrapped up in her towel, and Desmond hugs her as soon as she's within arm's reach. Like he can't help himself.

While Desmond helps her into someone's old T-shirt (it fits her more like a dress than a shirt, and Haytham actually almost laughs when he realizes that a group of highly trained assassins are going to have to go shopping for a two-year-old girl's clothes pretty soon), Edward sidles over to Haytham. "Hey," he hisses.

"Hey, what?" Haytham asks, at a normal volume.

"Hey, what do you think about Elena?" Edward whispers.

Haytham gives him a funny look. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to talk about people where they can hear you?"

"She's not paying attention to anything but Desmond," Edward says. "And I'm not saying anything _bad_."

Haytham sighs, and drops his voice a little. "I think she's exactly where she's supposed to be now. I think—" _she called me grandpa._ "I think she'll be happy here." Edward beams, and Haytham feels compelled to add, "And I think you should definitely not teach her how to be a pirate, that is a very bad idea."

"Relax," Edward says. "Of course I won't teach her anything dangerous. Maybe just how to swim, that’s safe enough, right? I mean, maybe, if people in this time still made decent ships, it’d be a different story. They all have motors now. It's stupid." He looks personally offended.

Haytham sighs, and changes the subject. His father and his son may be happy to spend vast amounts of time at sea, but the whole thing rather bores Haytham. "Is William prowling around upstairs?" he asks. "I'm really not in the mood for another confrontation."

"No," Edward reassures him. "He's having top secret meetings with Shaun and Rebecca somewhere, I don't know what they're talking about."

"Animi," Desmond says, looking up from Elena for a moment. "I heard them shouting about it when I went looking for clothes. And something called a Helix."

"Never heard of it," Edward says cheerfully. "Must not be important."

"Oh!" Desmond looks at Haytham again. "Did anyone tell you that Altair is back?"

"No. When—“

“I woke up in bed with him,” Edward says, and Haytham has just enough time to think _that must have ended well_ before Edward adds, “He tried to kill me again.”

“Did you try and hug him?” Haytham asks, tiredly.

“I thought he was Desmond!” Edward protests. “And I did not try, I succeeded.”

“What, you got us confused again?” Desmond asks. “You really have to start checking first.”

“What do you want?” Edward demands. “A code word, like Shay and Aveline? I say, ah—" his face breaks into a grin that Haytham doesn't much like the look of. "I'll say _parsnips_ , and you can say 'Ooh, Edward, ravish me please—'"

Desmond puts his hand over Elena's ears and Haytham gives Edward a sharp knock around the back of the head. "No wonder you came back looking young," he says. "Your immaturity is continuously surprising."

"I'm surprised he didn't come back six years old," Desmond grumbles. "It'd fit him better."

Edward sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes, which makes Elena giggle and try to copy the expression.

Haytham gives Edward a disapproving look. "Really?" 

Edward shrugs, a sheepish smile dancing around his mouth. Haytham sighs and grabs Edward by the elbow, guiding him upstairs. “You're a terrible influence on children,” he grumbles.

“I don’t think so,” Edward says seriously. “You turned out alright.”

Haytham opens his mouth to point out that Edward hadn't exactly been around to influence him after his tenth birthday, but decides at the last moment not to be hurtful. “I have often wondered what I would have been like if you had been there my entire childhood,” he says instead. “I remember seeing myself on occasion, when I visited you. I always seemed…” Happy. “Different. I could scarcely believe that boy was me.”

Edward frowns at him. "Don't say that," he says. "You're just grown up. But you're still the same.” He touches Haytham on the back with surprising gentleness. "Of course you're not _exactly_ the same, but one of the best parts of visiting for me has always been watching the ways you change and mature into the man you became. Even if I did have to see it all out of order. And even if you wouldn't tell me you were for _ages_. But there was never a point in your life when I didn’t like you. At least, not after I knew who you were."

Haytham doubts this (surely Edward cannot prefer him to the innocent child he had once been), but it's nice to hear it from his father in any case. He isn't sure how to respond, so he changes the subject. "I don't understand how you can say what you said to Desmond in one breath, and then say something like _that_ in the next."

"It's a gift," Edward says cheerfully. "Now, shall we go find Altair?"

"That depends," Haytham says. "Does he still want to kill you?"

Edward snorts dismissively. "I doubt it," he says. "If he held a grudge every time he wanted to stab me, I would have been killed ages ago."

"You _were_ ," Haytham points out. "You were killed several centuries ago."

"But not by Altair," Edward says, in what can only be described as a tone of triumph. "Come on! Don't you want to see him again?"

And Haytham realizes, to his own surprise, that he does. Altair has tried to kill Haytham as well as Edward, of course (although compared to Edward's cuddling, it seems almost normal for Altair to have tried to kill Haytham over something as simple as conflicting loyalties). Still, that had been many years ago for both of them, and it will be nice to finally have a real conversation without worrying that Altair will be young and murderously inclined the next time they meet.

The man himself is in the common area, sitting with Ezio and Shay. Haytham can hear distant shouting from William's room. Altair, Ezio, and Shay look up when Haytham and Edward walk up, and Shay shushes Edward when he tries to talk. This of course doesn't work, although it does manage to make Edward keep his voice down a little. "Why are we whispering?" he asks, in a voice that can in no way be called a whisper, no matter how charitably Haytham tries to look at it. Slightly muted, perhaps.

"William's having a secret meeting with Shaun and Rebecca," Shay says, in a much more appropriately quiet voice.

"Well, it was a secret," Altair points out. "Now _Edward_ knows about it."

Edward waves a dismissive hand. "Desmond mentioned it when we were downstairs," he said. "I already knew. Are they still talking about whatever that helix thing is?"

"They were," Altair says. "Apparently helix is a kind of animus that can let you see anyone's memories, not just your own ancestors. The templars are recruiting innocents to go through the memories of people they think are important.”

“Anyone interesting?” Edward asks.

“The Frye twins.”

“Evie?” Edward asks, sounding absolutely floored. “Why?”

They're looking for the shroud.” He sighs, gesturing to the room William, Shaun, and Rebecca are holed up in. “And apparently William and the other two are having a disagreement over what to do about that."

"How so?" Haytham asks.

Shay sighs, in that long-suffering way he has when anyone brings up Pieces of Eden. "It's rumored to be able to bring people back from the dead, and apparently William's been inspired by our return. He wants to start bringing other people back."

"That… sounds like a bad idea," Haytham says. "We had extenuating circumstances, because of visiting. And we didn't use that shroud thing."

"Messing with Pieces of Eden is never a good idea," Shay growls.

Altair nods, then looks at Haytham and Edward. "Shaun and Rebecca are in favor of just destroying the shroud," he says. "Or at least hiding it so no one else can use it. I have to say I'm on their side, in this case."

Haytham nods, and Edward raises his voice in agreement (he's quickly shushed again by the other four, as the argument inside the bedroom picks up in volume, so they can hear more clearly). For a while, none of them says anything else.

But later, Haytham runs into Ezio, looking distracted and lost in thought, and asks him what's wrong.

"Nothing," Ezio says. "I'm just thinking about the shroud."

"Not about using it, I hope," Haytham says sharply.

Ezio sighs. "Well, it's just that it's supposed to bring people back from the dead," he says. "And… I did make a promise to Clay."


	24. Chapter 24

The first time Elena almost kills herself is a week after she comes home from Abstergo. She's not _trying_ to kill herself, of course—Ezio doesn't like to think any two year old would be capable of that—but she definitely does almost die. The problem, as far as Ezio sees it, is that her entire world has suddenly changed in every conceivable way. She's gone from a place where everyone hates her, a place where she's not allowed to do anything, where there's no room to run or explore or do anything children _need_ to do, to… well. Here. A place where everyone dotes on her, where she's able to test her limits for the first time, where she's surrounded by people that can't stop climbing things.

Maybe it's inevitable that she'd try to mimic them. Ezio and Edward had set up a kind of obstacle course on the ground floor that they've been using for races. Gradually the others got involved as well (all but William, who makes it clear that he has no interest in anything like that, and Shaun and Rebecca, who are gone anyway to try and find the shroud). More than once, Ezio has noticed Elena sitting safely on the floor, watching them in fascination.

It's just too bad no one notices the time she decides to try it herself.

It's not exactly clear who's supposed to be watching her, only that Desmond and Haytham have gone out for the afternoon (looking for the kinds of things Elena badly needs now that she's staying with them—clothes and things, mostly) and left her behind. Desmond had made the entirely understandable assumption that the remaining five visitors would be enough to keep an eye on her, but maybe that's the problem. There are simply too many of them, and every visitor assumes one of the others is with Elena.

Ezio doesn't realize she's gone until he heads downstairs for something else, and sees her crouched on the ground, one leg bent at a sickeningly _wrong_ angle, and blood on her face. It's on her hands, too, from where her palms are pressed up against her face. Her shoulders are hunched, and even in the scarce few moments it takes Ezio's heart to start beating again, before he can force his legs to move, he sees her whole body shaking hard. He almost thinks she's crying, _sobbing_ , except Ezio can't hear a sound.

Ezio finally makes himself move, and he almost flies to Elena's side. He crouches down next to her, touches her shoulder, and Elena flinches hard enough to jolt her leg. She cries out and sobs harder, aloud this time. "Sor—sorry!" she gasps. She tries to curl up, but with her leg all twisted up and bent, that's out of the question.

Her sobbing is rapidly approaching the kind of breathless, hitched noise of someone that's on the verge of panic, and Ezio is afraid that she'll hurt herself more if he doesn't do something. He's had his fair share of experience with broken bones—both his own and others—but not in children this young. He sits down on the floor and gently eases himself forward so he's sitting behind Elena, putting his arms around her chest and guiding her backward so she's leaning against him without moving her leg at all. She calms a little, and her breathing gradually slows down. That’s when Ezio decides it's safe to say something.

"Elena," he says. "What happened?"

A long pause, then Elena says in a soft, scared voice, "… was bad."

"What did you do?"

She points at the nearest part of the obstacle course, and Ezio curses himself for his stupidity. Why hadn't they warned Elena away? Why hadn't they watched her more carefully? "You didn't do anything bad," he says.

"Daddy said no climb," Elena mumbles. She hides her face in her hands again, so that her words are muffled. "But I wanna! Bad 'Lena, bad, _bad_!"

Well, of course she wants to climb. She's two years old, and Ezio knows from experience that two year olds are terrifyingly inquisitive. And besides that, she's got so many assassins in her ancestry (and her life, really) this probably seems normal to her. Still, Ezio doesn't want to give her the impression that climbing up things unsupervised is a good idea.

"You shouldn't have done that," Ezio says carefully. "But you're not a bad person, alright? Next time, you just have to talk to someone about it first. And…" he glances at her poor little leg. "Wait until you feel better."

"No," Elena says firmly, shaking her head. This has the unexpected benefit of letting Ezio see that the blood on her is coming from her hands, which are scraped open, and have only been smeared across her face where she's holding it. At least her head's not bleeding. "No more climb, _never_."

"Don't say that," Ezio says. “Someday, when you're older, you're going to want to _fly_. And I promise that if you're careful and smart, climbing is as close as you can get without growing wings.”

“Never, never, _never_!” She whimpers a little, and Ezio runs his fingers comfortingly through her hair as he examines her thoroughly broken leg. It’s a little hard to tell, and Ezio is no doctor, but it seems to have been broken in two distinct places. He knows how to set a broken bone, but he needs supplies. He doesn't want to leave Elena long enough to find them, and shouting for the others could scare her more. He pulls out his phone and (since the man is the only other remaining person in the building with a cell phone), calls William.

It takes him less than three minutes to get downstairs with everything he needs for at least a rudimentary splint. For all the harm William has done to Desmond (and Ezio cannot pretend he's ready to forgive and forget on that front), he's clearly had some practice with this. Hopefully in fixing broken legs in general, and not specifically children's.

He doesn't look up from Elena's leg the entire time he's working, and she doesn't look at him. Ezio tries to keep her distracted, but after a while he starts to worry about the careful way she and William are avoiding each other. When William tells Ezio he's done what he can for now, and that he'll have to start looking around for a doctor that won't ask questions or write things down, Ezio waits just long enough for William to disappear back upstairs before looking down at Elena.

"Do you know who that man is?" he asks.

She nods. The splint seems to have taken some of the pressure off her leg, and she at least looks like she's in a little less pain than before. "He's my _other_ grandpa," she tells him, and the way she says it, 'other' almost sounds like an insult. When Flavia and Marcello had been young, and Sofia had read them fairy tales to help them sleep, they'd talked about the monsters and witches in those stories in almost the same tone of voice. "Daddy says…" she tries to shift into a better position, and makes a little noise of pain. Ezio hugs her and waits patiently until she's ready to start talking again.

"Daddy says he's scary. And shouty." She holds her hands up and screws up her face like she's trying to be a monster herself. The overall effect is less scary than it is cute, although mostly right now she just looks sad and injured. "Daddy said stay away and tell him if grandpa is bad."

"He's not all bad," Ezio says, without much conviction. Whatever else can be said about him, William certainly does make it hard to defend him sometimes. "He helped you with your leg, didn’t you?"

"Still hurts," Elena says. She starts sniffling, like Ezio has just reminded her how much pain she's supposed to be in. "Where's daddy? I want my daddy!"

"He'll come home soon," Ezio promises. "Try not to worry about it."

"I _want_ him," Elena insists. "Tell him come home!"

"Do you want me to call him?" Ezio asks, and Elena nods so furiously it looks like her head might fly right off. Ezio still has his phone out, and Elena watches like a hawk as he dials Desmond's number and puts it on speaker. It rings three, four times before Desmond finally picks up. Ezio only manages to get out, "Desmond, don't panic—" before Elena cuts him off, leaning closer to the phone and almost shouting.

"Daddy I was _bad_ and you said no climb but I climbed and I got bad, bad owie and scary grandpa helped and—" she's definitely crying by now. "Daddy come _home_!"

Ezio grabs the phone and takes it back off speaker as Elena buries her face in his shirt, crying hard and curling up as much of her body as she can with one leg in a splint. Between her sobs and Desmond's understandably frantic questions, it takes a while to get the whole story out. He eventually manages it, just as William comes back downstairs, calling out that he's found somewhere safe to take her.

By this point, Desmond is apparently ready to drop everything and come straight home, so Ezio gives him the address of the doctor instead and tells him to come there. "And will you please tell Elena it's okay to trust your dad? You really did a good job of scaring her away from him."

"Good," Desmond grumbles. "I don't want her around him any more than she has to be."

"Except he's the one that knows where this doctor is," Ezio says. "And Desmond, she's going to be alright in the long run, but this is a really bad looking break and I don't think we should wait."

There's a very long silence, then Desmond says, "Put her on."

Ezio doesn't hear any of what Desmond says to Elena, but she listens to it all with an expression of intense concentration, both hands clutching the cellphone next to her ear. She doesn't say very much, apart from a few quiet "okay"s. Once or twice she nods, and then she gives the phone back to Ezio.

"Daddy says scary grandpa is okay today," she tells him, and Ezio just barely catches William's horrified look of shock at _scary grandpa_ out of the corner of his eye. "But you come too."

"I'll come," Ezio promises, and lifts her as gently as possible, so that her leg isn't jostled at all. The whole ride to the doctor is quiet and tense, and Elena doesn't much like the waiting room when they get there. Ezio doesn't exactly blame her—the office is fairly clinical, almost bare, and in certain ways there's a lot in common with the Abstergo building they'd rescued her from.

Luckily, the doctor himself is an elderly man with a friendly voice and a bright smile, and he's clearly worked with kids before. He explains everything he's doing in simple words that she can understand, and Elena is absolutely enthralled by the whole thing. She's not paying any attention to Ezio or William, so Ezio tries to make small talk.

"He's good with kids," he observes, and William nods tightly.

"I wanted to make sure I found a doctor with a good pediatric reputation," he says. "I don't know why I bothered, if I'm going to be the _scary grandpa_ no matter what I do."

"You can't think about it like that," Ezio says. "If you really care about Elena, and not just what Elena thinks about _you_ , then isn't it just important for her to be happy? Even if she's not old enough to appreciate that you're looking out for her?"

Just for a minute, William looks like he's struggling with this. Then he nods. "I just thought that maybe I'd gotten all my mistakes out of the way with Desmond. I wanted to do better with Elena, but I suppose it's too late now."

"Late," Ezio agrees. "But never _too_ late."

Desmond comes in just then, still holding the keys to the van he'd driven over in, face pinched up in worry. Haytham follows him, looking only marginally less concerned. They immediately hurry up to Elena, and Desmond hugs her while she points excitedly at the fresh new cast her new doctor friend has done for her.

Ezio tries to avoid the sad, jealous look on William's face.


	25. Chapter 25

Elena comes home with her leg all wrapped up in a cast and looking less upset than Shay expects. Desmond is showing her how to draw on her cast, ignoring his father's reminder that the doctor had specifically said not to do so. And anyway, by this point Elena has a fistful of markers and is happily scribbling pink flowers onto her knee, next to what looks like a doodle of Clay’s little robot drone (she’s added a big smiling face to the front). William looks at her, apparently reconsiders taking the markers away, and gives her an awkward pat on the head before leaving.

"Mean grandpa was only a _little_ mean," Elena says to Desmond when he's gone, squishing her thumb and forefinger close together. "No shouting." She looks over at Haytham, craning her head back to look him in the eye. "You're still the nice grandpa,” she tells him reassuringly. “And you smell good."

Connor makes an abrupt, choking noise that might be a poor attempt at hiding a laugh. "Did you know that?" he asks Haytham. "Did you know that you smell good?"

Haytham makes a face that is halfway between annoyed-at-Connor and pleased-with-Elena. Desmond laughs aloud at the expression, and Haytham gives in, smiling as well. "You're a good girl, Elena," he says, and she beams like she's just been given a prize. Well—at least breaking her leg doesn’t seem to have permanently dampened her spirits.

After a while, and Shay doesn't really know how it happens, but everyone else sort of drifts away to do other things. In the end, only he and Desmond are left with Elena, watching her draw all over her cast and listening to her disjointed explanations of what her scribbles are. At the moment, she's drawing a handful of stick figures on the very edge of her cast. Desmond nudges her a little and tries to smile (although he doesn't quite lose the guilty, worried look he's worn since they came back, like he'd broken her leg himself). "Who's that?"

"Special friends," Elena says. There are seven little people, in seven different colors, laid out in a little line. Desmond points to the closest one to him.

"Who's that one?" he asks.

"Cello," she says.

"Like the instrument?" Shay asks, and Elena gives him an almost pitying look, like he just doesn't _get_ it.

"No," she says. "Like Cello! My friend!" She leans her whole body over so she can reach Shay, and pats him on the leg. "He's avisible. You can't see him."

"You mean _invisible_?" Desmond asks. He's smiling a little, humoring her. Shay can't exactly blame him—his kids had gone through their share of imaginary friends at Elena’s age, and been absolutely adorable in the process.

Elena shrugs. "This one's Matty! And—" she looks up suddenly and gasps, eyes lighting up as she looks at something only she can see, reaching her arms out toward an empty room. "Jeanne, Jeanne!" For a moment she simply waits, smiling brightly, and then wraps her arms tightly around herself, rocking slightly from side to side.

For half a second, something squeezes tight in Shay's chest, before he realizes that it must be just a coincidence that Elena is shouting his daughter's name. He looks over her head at Desmond, who's looking back at him. And in between them, Elena is absolutely lit up with excitement, chattering a mile a minute and pointing to her leg. "Jeanne, look!" she says excitedly. "Wanna draw too?"

"Shay…" Elena is so distracted, she probably wouldn't have noticed Desmond shouting, but he drops his voice to a whisper anyway. "Do you… I mean…"

"What?"

Desmond frowns a second before answering. "What does visiting look like to people that aren't actually visitors?"

"I don't know," Shay says. "Like someone talking to themselves, I guess?"

They both look down at Elena, still chattering away at nothing. Shay can understand what Desmond is getting at, and where he’s coming from (he's still new to being a father, after all, he's bound to think every little thing he sees is something big and important). But this is just Elena being a normal little girl, inventing games and friends when there's nothing else to occupy her. And... it just so happens that she'd heard the name _Jeanne_ somewhere, "She's not visiting," he says.

"How do you know?" Desmond asks.

"She's just talking to one of her imaginary friends," Shay says, gesturing to Elena's little stick figure drawing of her friends. "It's completely normal, even for kids that… well, not to put too fine of a point on it, but even for kids that haven't spent years locked in a tiny room alone."

Desmond's expression goes stubborn. "How would you know if she _was_ visiting?" he asks.

"She's _not_ ," Shay says, exasperated. "What are the chances of that?"

"Edward and Haytham and Connor are all visitors," Desmond points out. "Maybe it can be passed on from parent to children."

"We would have seen her," Shay says. "Elena never visited me. Or you. Or any of the others."

"Maybe she's got her own set," Desmond insists. "Her and Jeanne, and… I don't know. Whoever else." He leans over and catches Elena's attention. "Elena, honey, can you tell me the names of all your friends?"

"Jeanne and Cello and Matty and Darim and Jenny and Rory and Jacob," Elena says, all in one breath. Then she goes back to her one sided conversation, leaving Desmond to give Shay a significant look over the top of her head. Like that was supposed to prove something.

"What?" Shay asks. "She just picked names."

Desmond counts off on his fingers. "Jeanne and Rory are the names of two of your kids. Darim is Altair's son. Jenny and Jacob are Edward's daughters and…" he looks thoughtful for a moment. "I don't know. Matty could be short for Matthew. That's Connor's son."

"And Cello?" Shay asks skeptically. He has to admit that hearing Rory's name in that list as well had thrown him a little. And… alright, so maybe Darim's name is a little odd. That's not the kind of thing a two year old girl would come up with on their own. But still. There have to be explanations more reasonable than _well actually all of our children are visitors._

Desmond looks slightly confused for a moment, and then he looks _extremely_ confused as Elena goes suddenly still and then speaks up unexpectedly. "Actually," she says, "That's short for Marcello. Ezio's son? He can't stand the nickname, but it's really useful to have something guaranteed to annoy _him_ when he's driving the rest of us crazy."

For a very long moment, both Shay and Desmond just stare at her in absolute silence. There's something in her voice sounds… well, it's still Elena's voice, but at the same time, it’s-- different. The words are too _much_ for a two year old, and the sentences are too well put together. She sounds older than herself, different.

She sounds like someone else.

"What?" Desmond says, after a pause that goes on entirely too long. "Elena?"

She shakes her head. "No," she says. "Sorry, but you looked like you needed some help, and Elena—well, she's one of my best friends, but it's hard to explain things when you're two years old, you know?"

“You’re not Elena,” Desmond says. “So who--”

"Jeanne?" Shay asks, and it's unbelievably strange to recognize his daughter's smile on Elena's face. She nods and hugs him.

Shay hugs her back, wrapping her up in his arms the same way he has a thousand times before. If he closes his eyes and ignores the confused spinning in his head, he can almost pretend he's back home and everything is normal. But no—it's not normal, it's strange and impossible and weird. And even while part of Shay's mind is _screaming_ in joy at somehow having Jeanne back, the rest of him is still hesitantly uncertain. Because really? _Really_?

He can just about wrap his mind around the existence of other groups of visitors. He can even imagine that Elena is part of one of those groups. What Shay is really struggling with is the fact that Jeanne had always had visitors of her own, and never told him. He and Aveline had never kept their visitors a secret from their children, and Jeanne could have come to him with this. She _would_ have, if any of this was real. Wouldn't she?

"I'm sorry I never told you," Jeanne tells him softly, addressing his worries so well he might as well have said them out loud. "I _wanted_ to tell you so many times but I always knew you weren't going to find out until now. I didn't want to mess things up, and I… I'm sorry, dad."

And he knows her. The parts of his mind that keep trying to object to this are giving up, not one by one but all at once. He knows his daughter in the way she calls him _dad_ , he knows her in her heartfelt apology and the feel of her wrapped up in his arms. Even by the way she seems to know exactly what's worrying him, without Shay having to say a single word.

"It's okay," he says. He'd forgive her anything right at this moment. "I missed you."

"I saw you this morning," Jeanne tells him, grinning a little. "And I'll see you tonight."

"Well. Lucky you." He frowns a little. "Jeanne, how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

Christ, but that had been a long time ago. Shay scarcely has time to _begin_ to process the strangeness of all this (the years and years she'd kept this a secret, how different life would have been if Shay had known) before Jeanne is tugging at his sleeve and hugging him goodbye. "Elena wants her body back," she says reluctantly.

“No,” Shay says.

“ _Yes_ ,” Desmond insists,and Shay frowns apologetically at him. Of course he’d want Elena back. It’s just that Shay doesn’t want to let go of Jeanne.

"I love you," he tells her. "And tell your brother, too."

She makes a face at the mention of Rory (exactly the same annoyed, unhappy face she _always_ makes when talking about him), but nods. And then… Shay knows the exact moment when Jeanne lets Elena have her body back. Suddenly she's squirming in his arms, pulling back and calling for Desmond.

Shay lets her go, too numb to do anything else. He can't help but wonder if Jeanne is still standing there, invisible to everyone but Elena, and for a second everything in him aches from her absence. Shay had been able to cope with the loss of his family when he first got here because he _knows_ Aveline will be with him again eventually, and because his children have been dead and gone for centuries by this point. They're impossibly far out of reach, and somehow that’s actually helping Shay to cope.

But this changes _everything_ (because Jeanne and Rory are Elena's visitors, and that means they're here, maybe not always but sometimes _they're here_ ), and at the same time it changes nothing at all (because he can't see them, he can't even talk to them unless they borrow Elena's body, and also because it makes Philippe and Tomas seem farther away than ever). It brings back the hurt of losing them all, and Shay gets up to leave, mumbling some excuse to Desmond. It's stupid and petty and selfish, but he's intensely jealous of Desmond right now-- he can hold his daughter and never let go.

Desmond calls him back before Shay can take more than a step or two. "Hey!" he says, and Shay turns back to see Desmond almost beaming at him. "Isn't this great?" he says. "You guys were always there for me when I needed you. Even when I didn’t know I needed you, even when I was convinced you weren’t real. You were always, _always_ there." He squeezes Elena a little tighter. "I don't know about you," he says. "But I don't know of any group of people I'd want my daughter to grow up with more than the children of my visitors."

Shay stares at him, just for a second, then nods. "You're right," he says. Because maybe this will be a little hard for him to adjust to, but it's the best thing for Jeanne and Rory, isn't it? Even when he and Aveline hadn't been able to be there for them, they'd had their visitors to rely on. They have people they can trust absolutely, real friends, hopefully even family. Shay isn't sure what the dynamic is between this second group of visitors, but after everything he's seen and experienced with his own visitors, it's hard to imagine a lifetime of visits that _don't_ somehow culminate in a weird, wonderful family.

Good for Jeanne. Good for Rory.

He’s smiling a little as he hurries upstairs to tell the others what they’ve just found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been so hard not to spoil this, and it's finally finally finally out, I am so happy. :)


	26. Chapter 26

By this point, Connor has been in Desmond's time long enough to sort of understand things. He’s figured out clothing, or at least how to wear it. Fashion is something he doesn't understand (and doesn't _want_ to), but he can at least dress himself in a way that avoids attention. And that's really all he wants, so it's good enough for now. He's starting to get a grasp on computers, too—he'll never be an expert, but before she left Rebecca had showed Connor that the Internet is for more than just cats. He's been reading through Wikipedia articles, which helps with learning the technology as well as catching up on a couple hundred years of history and culture.

Now he wants to see it for himself.

It's not like this is his first time adjusting to a new culture. His understanding of the world had started over from scratch the day Achilles had taken him reluctantly under his wing. This is exactly the same, except Connor doesn't have to adjust to a new family this time around. He's already starting to get a feel for things, as much as he can from in here. The next step is to see this new world for himself, and Connor is just trying to figure out the best way to do things. He doesn't want to leave without telling anyone, but he's not sure they won't try to stop him.

Edward might be alright with him going—he's already run off on his own once before (and been _shot_ in the process). But there's always the question of whether he will tell anyone else, and Connor is pretty sure the answer is _yes_. Connor is fond of his grandfather, but he certainly doesn't trust the man to keep a secret. Desmond might understand, he's always been very understanding, but he'd be disappointed to see Connor leave, and Connor isn't sure he has it in him to disappoint Desmond. He could tell Ezio, but he always feels slightly nervous talking to Ezio. Probably all those unwanted visits to the Rosa in Fiore. Who else? Shay is a friend, he could tell Shay. Altair might understand. Or—

Haytham sits down in the seat across from Connor, eyebrows raised. "You look lost in thought," he says. "What's troubling you?"

Or his father. He can tell his father.

"I want to leave," Connor says.

"For good?"

Connor gives this some consideration. "No," he says. "I have had visitors all of my life. I started permanently visiting when I was thirteen. I never forgot the visits I made as a child, the way the rest of you seem to have done." He and Haytham very carefully don't look at each other for a moment. Connor is thinking about the day his mother died, and he's almost positive Haytham is thinking the same thing. Connor takes a deep breath and pushes on. "Now that we don't visit each other, I think I would miss all of you if you were suddenly out of my life. But I want to see what else there is in this world."

Haytham nods. "So do I."

"Do you?"

"Of course. I don't think any of us want to stay in this safe house forev—what?" He looks sideways at Connor. "What's wrong, why are you smiling?"

"It's just rare that we agree," Connor says. "Are you planning to leave, then?"

"Not quite yet," Haytham says. "I'd like to at least wait until Aveline is back as well. And I want to be here for Desmond until he settles in with Elena. I…" he looks guiltily at Connor. "I know I'll probably only make things worse for him by helping, but I'd rather like to be here anyway."

Connor shakes his head. "You won't make things worse."

"I did for you."

"Well. You weren't the right…" he sighs. This conversation had started out so well. He doesn't want to argue. "You're right for Desmond," he says instead. "I know he told Elena you're her grandfather." Of course he does. Haytham had gone around telling everyone else after that. William had absolutely _fumed_ over it. "And there's no way you can make things worse for her."

"Why not?"

Connor smiles. "Because you're her grandfather. You can't mess up grandfathering."

"No offense, Connor," Haytham says. "But what do you know of grandfathering?"

Well, nothing. Matthew had never married or had children; the line connecting Connor to Desmond must have run through Matthew's sister, the daughter Connor had never met—Emily had still been pregnant when she left. When Matthew had moved back in with Connor, he'd sort of casually tried to ask after her—Matthew had hesitated, avoided the question, and then admitted his sister wanted nothing to do with Connor. _"Mom got to her,"_ had been his exact words.

That was the last time either of them ever brought her up. Connor doesn't even know her name. He'd been sort of afraid to ask.

He shakes his head and recalls himself to the conversation at hand. "I don't know much about being a grandfather," he admits. "But I've always thought Edward was a good grandfather to me. I mean, once he knew we were related, obviously. But he's exactly the kind of person that would annoy me in any other circumstances." He scowls. "Loud. Obnoxious. Inebriated."

"Oi!" Edward calls from the other side of the room. "I _can_ hear you!"

"Then stop listening!" Haytham calls back.

Connor drops his voice. "The point is, he's an irritating human being, but I'm grateful to have him as a grandfather. If I can appreciate Edward, I'm sure Elena will love you."

Wherever else that conversation might have gone, it never gets there. Shay comes staggering up the stairs, looking like he's just seen a ghost, and falls heavily into the chair next to Haytham.

"What's the matter with you?" Haytham asks, alarmed. "Shay, you look pale."

"I've just…" he's sort of staring at nothing. "I've just spoken to my daughter."

"What?" Connor glances at Haytham (who looks surprised) and then at Edward as he wanders over to join them (he looks supremely interested).

"Shay," Haytham says patiently. "I know that you and Jeanne were very close."

" _Very_ close," Shay agrees. His voice is hoarse and distant.

"But it's been hundreds of years since she…" Haytham looks like he's struggling not to explicitly point out that Jeanne is dead. "Well, Shay. She can't be here."

Shay shakes his head. "She's not really here, of course she's not."

"But—"

"She's visiting."

Dead silence. Even Edward doesn't have a smart comment (or a comment he _thinks_ is smart, which is an entirely different thing). Ezio and Altair, who had been talking in another corner of the room, move over as well.

"Jeanne visited you?" Altair asks after a moment.

"No," Shay says, with a little bite of impatience in his voice. "She visited Elena."

"Elena?" Ezio repeats. "As in—as in Desmond's daughter, Elena? Downstairs?"

Shay nods. "Our children are visiting each other."

"But that's…" Haytham shakes his head. "No, that's not possible."

"Well not _your_ children," Shay allows. "As far as I know, you only ever had Connor?" He pauses long enough for Haytham to nod. "And he's in this group of visitors."

"So… so there's a whole other group of visitors," Ezio says. "That's possible?"

"It must be," Shay says. "It's happening. I didn't believe it at first either, but then Jeanne borrowed Elena's body, and she spoke to me. I know it was her, and I don't care if I sound—"

"Is Darim one of the visitors?" Altair interrupts abruptly. "Or Sef? I just—" he's leaning forward slightly, looking more agitated than Connor has ever seen him. "I need to know."

"Darim," Shay says, and Altair _beams_.

"Who else?" Ezio blurts out.

"Jeanne," Shay says. "Rory." Ezio is still waiting impatiently, so Shay nods at him and adds, "Marcello."

"Marcello!"

"Apparently the rest of them call him Cello."

"Ah…" Ezio nods knowingly. "So that's why he always insisted he wasn't a musical instrument when he was small."

Shay shrugs. "I suppose so. And there's Jenny and Jacob."

"Both of them?" Edward asks. " _Oh!_ " He slaps Haytham around the back.

"What?"

"Well, it's good news, isn't it?" Edward beams. "Aren't you glad your sisters were able to look out for each other?"

Haytham and Edward start bickering, and Connor just sits there in silence, staring at his hands in his lap. It has not escaped his attention that Shay has only named seven people, and that if this group has the same amount of visitors as theirs does, that still leaves one visitor out. But Shay isn't saying anything, and maybe not all groups of visitors have to have eight.

But…

Well, it wouldn't really be fair. Everyone else has just found out that they're going to be able to have some kind of contact with their children. At least some of their children. Connor wants that too. He wants to speak to Matthew again. Or meet his unknown daughter.

"Shay," Haytham prompts after a moment. "What about Connor's children?"

"Oh! Right. Sorry, Matthew's one of them too."

Connor sags back in his seat, relief coursing through him. So Matthew isn't gone forever. They'll see each other again. Sort of. Matthew will see him, anyway, and Connor will see Elena. But it's more than he'd hoped for.

Desmond comes up just then, cradling Elena. The six people already upstairs gather around the two of them, making a big fuss over Elena like she's done something really remarkable. She beams at the attention, turning her head a little toward Desmond and smiling shyly.

"Am I 'lowed to talk about my friends yet?" she asks Desmond, tugging at his sleeve and looking up at his face. "Jenny said to wait cuz you don't all know yet."

"You told us about them already," Desmond reminds her, pointing to a little stick figure drawing on her cast.

"Well you _asked_ ," Elena says.

Desmond laughs. "You can tell us all about them," he says. "We'd love to hear."

Elena's face lights up and she bursts into an excited stream of chatter. Talking about her visitors animates her in a way nothing else has, and it's immediately obvious how important these people are to her.

Connor feels… lighter somehow, watching her. He's thinking about all the ways his visitors have helped him during his life. And he's thinking about Matthew, and all the times Connor should have done more to help him but didn't know how, or wasn't there. At least he'd always had visitors to fall back on.

_Good._

He settles back into his seat, letting the comfortable sound of Elena's chatter wash over him. Every time he hears his son's name, a little jolt of excitement goes racing through Connor. She calls him Matty, sort of stumbling over the syllables like she can't get them all out fast enough. It's cute, and it occurs to Connor that if Elena's age is more or less in sync with Matthew's, this is a second chance for Connor to sort of see his son's childhood. Or at least hear about it through Elena.

He leans back in his chair, smiling gently. They're all smiling, really. This is so… it's just really good. That's all. Really, really good.

All thoughts of leaving have gone completely out of Connor's head, at least for the moment. He'll worry about claustrophobia and being trapped in the safe house later. For now, he's just happy enough to be with his family.

It's not until later, when he happens to glance up toward William's door, that he sees the man standing there. Watching them. Frowning. With Rebecca and Shaun out of the country and working on tracking down the shroud, he's now the only one in the house that isn't _someone's_ visitor.

Maybe that explains the sharp, intense expression of jealousy plastered across his face.


	27. Chapter 27

Altair manages to avoid talking to Elena for a week and a half after she breaks her leg. It's easy, really—the others are all eager to talk to her, and Elena is gradually starting to revel in the attention. She isn't afraid of any of them anymore (apart from William), and while she still prefers Desmond to anyone else, she'll happily spend time with any of them, talking their ears off about whatever's on her mind at the moment.

But she doesn't talk to Altair, because Altair won't let her. He makes sure he's never left alone with her, and always tries to look busy when she's around. Desmond is starting to worry, Altair knows he is, but so far they haven't talked about it. But Desmond looks hurt every time Altair flees a room Elena comes into, and he knows he owes Desmond an explanation sooner or later.

Later, maybe.

He doesn't know how long he's planning to avoid the issue, but then one day he walks in on Haytham and Elena spread out on the floor, playing with… well, with dolls. Altair has to sort of blink and shake his head to make sure he's seeing things right, but yes. That is definitely a templar grand master holding a little plastic person in each hand while his granddaughter lectures him on what sounds like the dolls' life stories. It's so surprising that Altair completely forgets that he's avoiding Elena, and freezes where he stands.

"…that one's called Girl," Elena explains, pointing to the doll in Haytham's left hand. "Daddy named it, he's not very good at naming things but I told him he needs practice and then he'll be better."

"What about the this one?" Haytham asks, holding up the other doll.

"That one's Susan," Elena says. "I named her, I'm a _much_ better namer than daddy. And Susan and Girl are best friends, so they like to play together." She reaches out and takes one of them, and Altair watches while she walks it along the ground, cheerfully narrating the doll's journey ("now they're going to the park, and now they're eating lunch…"). Haytham walks the other doll next to hers without being prompted, and when his doll announces—in a squeaky, high pitched voice that Altair would _never_ have imagined Haytham using—that she's going to the store, Altair completely loses it. Just doubles over, laughing like he hasn't laughed in… he can't remember the last time he laughed like this.

Elena gasps and her eyes go wide, and she throws a third doll at Altair. "You play too!"

"What?"

Haytham is bright red at being caught at playing with dolls, but he also looks faintly pleased. "Fair's fair," he says. "Come on, sit down."

"I'm not going to play dolls with you."

"Well, no," Haytham says. "But you'll play dolls with your great-great-etcetera-granddaughter, won't you?"

He's not planning on it, no. "Why are you…?"

"Well, it was Desmond's idea," Haytham admits. "He needed a break."

"Ah. Well I actually need to be somewhere else—"

"Darim plays with me when he visits," Elena pipes up, and Altair takes a step back.

"No," he says. "No, actually, I don't think… I don't play with dolls."

"Please?" Elena whines. "Grandpa can teach you."

"No," Altair says softly.

He turns around and heads downstairs before either of them can say anything else, and walks straight into Ezio coming up. Clay's little robot body thing flies next to him, and Ezio chatters away a mile a minute, eyes fixed on his phone screen. Altair has seen this before, and he's used to the relatively strange way Clay communicates. It's not worth commenting on anymore, so Altair only grunts and steps around Ezio.

"Hey—" Ezio grabs him by the arm and doesn't let him go.

"What?"

"You've been unusually grumpy lately," Ezio says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something." Clay flies off, zooming around Ezio's head for a second on his way up. Altair hears Elena shout something about a UFO stealing her dolls, and then some dramatic, giggling shrieking. _Most_ of it seems to be coming from Elena, but Altair thinks he can hear Haytham as well.

"What were the two of you talking about?" Altair asks, gesturing after Clay. He's only mildly interested, but he'd rather talk about Ezio and Clay than about himself. Ezio looks reluctant for a second, then shrugs.

"Something sort of interesting, actually," he says. "About Elena and her visitors."

Oh, great. Exactly what Altair doesn't want to talk about.

"He's been looking through Abstergo's files," Ezio says. "Historical records, computer stuff. Looking for any sign of visiting."

"Why?" Altair asks. "Do you think Elena's lying about having visitors?"

"No," Ezio says dismissively. "Of course not. She's two, she couldn’t lie this well if she wanted to. He's been looking for evidence of _other_ visitors. See, there's us." He makes a gesture that encompasses himself and Altair and broadly the rest of the safe house. "Let's call us A-Team."

"What? Why?"

"Because we were first."

"It's time travel," Altair says. "How can you say any group of visitors came first?"

"I knew about us first," Ezio says. "Anyway, let's call us A-Team, and Elena's group B-Team."

Altair sighs. "Alright, fine. Why are we naming ourselves? Are we competing for some reason?"

"No! It's just easier to talk about this way." He frowns. "You really are irritated today, aren't you?"

"Of course not."

Ezio sighs. "Well anyway, what Clay's been looking for is basically C-Team, and D-Team, and E-Team, and… well, you get the picture."

"Did he find them?"

Ezio nods. "Well—here and there. Nobody really talks about visitors, you know? And I assume not every group uses the same term. So it's hard to find any kind of evidence. But Clay's just been showing me what he's come across so far, and I wouldn't say any of it's conclusive, but it's sort of… suggestive. People talking to invisible people, or knowing things about the future or the past that they shouldn't have known."

"Maybe they're just crazy," Altair says skeptically.

"I'm sure some of them are," Ezio agrees. "But I'd bet anything that some of them are visitors. Just think—all these people. All across history. All over the world. It's like we're living in a whole—a whole _universe_ of visitors, only no one wants to talk about it, so everyone just sort of stumbles through it making their own mistakes."

"A universe of visitors?" Altair asks skeptically.

"A… a _visitorverse_ , you might say." Ezio sounds proud of this pun, although Altair groans aloud in response.

"Ezio…"

"It's just exciting, isn't it?" Ezio says. "We—"

"Do you know anything about why it happens, though?" Altair asks. "Why us? Why…" he heaves a sigh before allowing himself to use Ezio's terminology. "Why A-Team or B-Team?"

"No more than we ever did," Ezio says cheerfully. "Because we needed each other."

Altair grunts, and Ezio forcibly shoves him down so that he's sitting on the stairs. Ezio joins him, sitting down with his arm wrapped around Altair's shoulders in a position that _might_ have seemed friendly if Ezio hadn't been holding Altair so tightly. He can't leave without making a scene, and although he's tempted to try, there's really nowhere to run inside the safe house. Ezio will track him down and try this again.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "And don't say nothing, because I've known you for ages and I can tell when you're lying."

"Maybe I don't want to talk about it."

"Please?" Ezio asks. He looks sad and serious. "I just want to help, you know that, don't you? We've all been worried. Even Elena keeps asking why you're sad. She says you never talk to her."

"She's right," Altair says. "I'm not good with children."

Ezio shakes his head. "You're not the greatest," he admits. "But I saw you with Darim and Sef. You always did well with them."

"They were my sons," Altair says. "It was easy with them." Something in him is twisting unpleasantly, and maybe it shows on his face because Ezio looks more worried than he had before.

Altair sighs and gives in. He doesn't really like worrying Ezio, he just… feels stupid talking about such a pointless worry. Still, Haytham's upstairs playing with dolls, so at least Altair won't be the strangest person in this building when he tells Ezio all the stupid things stuck in his head.

"Alright," he says. "It's Darim."

"Darim? What about him?"

"He's not…" Altair stares down at the floor. He can't look at Ezio just now, he just can't. "He's not the person I always thought he was. When Elena talks about him, I don't… I don't recognize him. He was always so serious and responsible. Taking care of his brother, learning everything I could teach him, he was always working on something or other. But Elena talks about him playing with her dolls and hugging her when she was a prisoner at Abstergo. Teaching her games and telling her stories and I just didn't think… he wasn't that kind of person." He stops just long enough for a quick, deep inhale. He doesn't know where all these words are coming from, but now that he's gotten started, he doesn't know how to stop.

"There was this whole part of his life that he never told me about."

"Oh yes," Ezio says cheerfully. "Because you told _him_ about _your_ visitors, right? So there's no reason for him to have kept his hidden."

"That's not—it isn't _just_ —I mean…" he sighs. "Alright. So maybe I'm being a hypocrite, but I would have loved it if he'd told me. Doesn't it bother you that Marcello never told you he had visitors?"

Ezio grins. "He was a kid when I died. And he used to run around talking to invisible people all the time. I thought he was just copying me talking to all of you. Do you really feel like you don't know your son?"

"I really don't."

"That's funny," Ezio says. "Because you just told me that Darim was always the responsible one, and taking care of his brother. It sounds to me like he's just taking care of Elena."

"I suppose," Altair says doubtfully. "But he—"

"You really should be talking to Elena about this," Ezio interrupts.

"She's two," Altair points out.

"She's friends with your son," Ezio says. "The son you're so worried about. She is the only living person that can see him."

Altair hesitates, then nods. "Do you think it will help?"

"Yes." He pokes Altair. "Stop worrying about stupid things. Darim is your son. He loves you, and you love him."

"Don't poke me." He shrugs Ezio's arm away and stands up. "I'm going to talk to Elena."

"Good!"

He's halfway back upstairs when he stops and turns around. "No, wait."

"What?"

"She's going to make me play with dolls if I go up there now. I don't mind talking to her about Darim, but I won't play dolls with her."

Ezio grins. It's not a particularly nice grin. "Elena!" he shouts upstairs.

"What?" her voice is a high and thin in the distance.

"Altair wants to play with your dolls!"

Her answer is an excited sort of squealing noise that makes Altair sigh heavily. "I thought we were friends, Ezio."

"We are," Ezio says. "But you're being too stubborn for your own good, so I'm helping you."

Altair heads back upstairs, vaguely aware of some kind of commotion going on behind him. Sounds like Rebecca and Shaun are back. About time—they've been gone a while, hunting down the shroud. He'll have to ask one of them later if they'd found what they're looking for.

But right now, Elena's waiting for him at the top of the stairs (she can scoot around surprisingly fast with her cast on, but she's been sternly warned against trying to use the stairs until she's back on her feet). "Dolls!" she announces, and throws two of them at him without any more warning. Altair catches them, and tries to smile. It gets a little easier when she smiles enthusiastically back at him.

"Alright," he agrees. "Dolls."


	28. Chapter 28

Elena falls asleep on the couch next to Desmond, leaning against his side, curled up as much as she can with one leg still in its cast. It's been a while since The Fall (Desmond can't think about it without capital letters, the same way he can't think about it without hating himself a little bit for being a terrible dad). Pretty soon, they'll be able to take Elena back to the doctor that had done the cast in the first place so he can take it off. Desmond can't wait, and he knows Elena is getting frustrated about not being able to move around as much as she wants to. Only a few more days.

He reaches carefully toward the ground, and picks up the stuffed lion from where it had fallen. For a second, he just sort of holds it in his hand, running his thumb distractedly over the fabric. This lion had been special to him when he was small. And then it had been special to Haytham, when he'd kept it safe for a while. Now it's special to Elena. Once upon a time, Desmond had been upset to let it go. He'd been so scared of what life would be like without a friend to protect him. Now he's older, with real friends and a warm feeling of confidence reminding him that not only can he protect himself, he can also take care of the people around him.

He doesn't need the lion anymore, he hasn't for a while now. He'll always be fond of the ratty stuffed animal, and grateful for the way it had popped back into his life when he needed it most. But Elena is his lion now, she's all the reason he'll ever need to be brave. Desmond smiles and gently presses it into Elena’s arms. She hugs it without waking, and makes a happy, sleepy little noise.

“Desmond?”

He looks up at the sound of his name, and sees Shay standing in the doorway of his own room. “Yea?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It's late,” Shay says, in the same quiet, gentle voice. “Are you going to bed?”

“I was,” Desmond says. “But I don't want to wake her up moving around.”

They both look down at Elena, and Shay sits down on a chair across from them. "Good," Shay says. "I know everyone says it, but you can't get these times back. Soon enough she'll be grown up, and that's… it's special too, but in a different way."

"I'm not thinking about that yet," Desmond says firmly. Right now, Elena is small enough to hold, small enough that she still _wants_ to be held. Someday she won't be, but that day is not today. He settles more comfortably against the back of the couch, drawing Elena closer to him. "I already missed two years," he says. "I wish… I never got to see her when she was a baby. I never got to hold her, or see her first smile—"

"Well, based on what we know of Abstergo and how they treated her while she was in there, you _might_ have seen her first smile."

That doesn't make Desmond feel any better. He doesn't like to think that Elena had frowned and cried her way through the first two years of her life. "No," he says. "She had her visitors to help. She must have smiled with them."

Shay nods. "I wonder what it's like when they're all together," he says. "Do you think they all get along?"

"We didn't," Desmond laughs. "Not at first."

"Got there in the end, though."

Desmond makes a little noise of agreement, and his eyes drop back down to Elena. Shay laughs softly and stands up. "I'll leave the two of you alone, then," he says.

"Thanks."

Desmond is just dropping off to sleep when suddenly someone's hand is on his shoulder and shaking him awake. He almost _flies_ off the couch, moving protectively to stand between her and whoever else is in the room with them. Elena shrieks as he pulls away, bursting immediately into tears.

"No! Desmond, calm down—"

He knows that voice, and _yes_ , there she is, standing right in front of him. "Av—Aveline?"

"Hi." She looks around at the room, and Desmond manages to calm down a bit. It's Aveline. He trusts her. She won't hurt Elena.

"Hey."

"So—"

"You're not wearing clothes," he blurts out, and Aveline grins at him.

"Nothing you haven't seen before. You are… holding a baby?"

"Yea. Yea, I am." Elena is starting to calm down a little, pressing her face into the lion and whimpering. He sits down next to her, which seems to calm her a little. "Come on, Elena. You know Aveline."

She looks around the lion and nods a little. "Jeanne and Rory's mommy?"

Desmond nods, and she smiles a little. Then giggles. "Daddy," she whispers. "She's not wearing any pants."

Desmond sighs and puts a hand over Elena's eyes. Aveline's not wearing anything else, either, but apparently it's the pants that are funny. "Shay!" he calls. "Shay!"

"Shay's here?" Aveline asks.

Desmond nods. "Just went to bed, so he shouldn't actually be asleep yet." He raises his voice a little more. _"Shay!"_

Shay comes out of his room, looking slightly concerned. "What's wrong?" he asks. "I thought you were trying not to wake—"

And then he stops talking. He just freezes, staring at Aveline in a way that reminds Desmond of the way he'd first looked at her, back when it had been obvious to everyone _but_ Shay and Aveline that they were falling in love. Shay is looking at her like she's something impossible, like she's a miracle and he can't believe she's his.

He's still gaping like a fish when she walks over to him and touches his face. "Look," she says softly.

His voice is scratchy and rough when he finally answers. "Look at what?"

"Look at _you_ ," she says. "Are you really here?"

Shay tries to speak, but only manages an unattractive sort of coughing noise. He nods instead.

Aveline beams at him, and leans over to kiss him. Desmond is expecting something passionate and excessive, and in fact he's all set to carry Elena out of the room before Shay can get naked as well. But that's not what happens. Their kiss is long and slow, gentle and absolutely loving. Shay puts one hand across the small of Aveline's back, drawing her closer. Desmond can see his hand shaking.

"Come on, Elena," he says, lifting her off the couch. "Time for bed."

"But—" she yawns and tries to twist around to look at Shay and Aveline. Desmond maneuvers so her back is to them again. He's still not completely sure they aren't going to suddenly start having sex. Hopefully Shay will get around to explaining everything that's happened at some point, in between all the kissing and… whatever else they plan on doing now that they're back together.

"We'll talk to them in the morning," he says. "Okay?"

"Okay." She puts her head on his shoulder. "Daddy?"

"Yea?" He carries Elena into their room, shuts the door, and lays her down on the bed. She won't lie down until he gets in with her, snuggling close in a position that's become very familiar over the past few weeks.

"Daddy, when will mommy be here?"

He can't breathe for a second. "What?"

"I wanna see mommy," Elena says. "She'll come back someday, right? Like Rory and Jeanne's mommy came back?"

He'd known she'd ask eventually, but Desmond hadn't been ready for it out of the blue like this. "Elena, honey…"

"She's nice, right?" Elena asks. Her voice slurs a little as she drifts back toward sleep. "I bet she's the bestest mommy ever."

Desmond closes his eyes, and tries extremely hard to not think about his blade in Lucy's stomach. It's hard, though, it's been hard ever since he'd done it. And it's only worse now that he knows Lucy had been pregnant with Elena at the time. He must have come so close to killing his little girl…

He looks down at her and sees that she's fallen asleep waiting for him to answer. Hopefully she'll have forgotten the question by the morning, because Desmond has no idea what he's going to tell her. He strokes her hair, and doesn't sleep at all for worrying.

The thumping and moans that start up an hour or so later certainly don't help anything.

Elena wakes early, and Desmond helps her with the bathroom and getting dressed, working carefully around her cast. By the time they're done with that, everyone else is in the common area, eating breakfast and talking to Aveline. She smiles at Elena when Desmond sets her down in her chair. They keep some of Shaun's old reference books there so she can reach the table. Shaun had been _livid_ when Desmond first borrowed them ("they're books! They're for _reading_ , not for sitting on!") until Elena hugged him and gave him the most sincere thank you a two year old was capable of. This morning, he actually pats her head and sort of smiles fondly on his way to the fridge, which is practically the same as a hug, coming from him.

"You're Elena, aren't you?" Aveline asks. "I heard you're friends with my children."

Elena nods, suddenly shy, and looks up at Desmond. He steals a waffle from Edward's plate and hands it to her. "So Shay filled you in?" he asks.

She squeezes Shay's hand where she's holding it on the table, and he beams like a teenager. "Eventually," she says. "It took a while to get through it all."

"I'm sure all the se—" Edward winces as Haytham steps heavily on his foot under the table. " _What?_ "

Haytham looks significantly at Elena, who is looking at Edward with interest.

"Right," Edward mutters. "I'm sure all your _other activities_ didn't make the explanation go any faster, right?"

"They certainly made it more enjoyable," Aveline says serenely.

"I'm going to have to move out, aren't I?" Desmond asks morosely. "I'll have to take Elena and just move us somewhere else if I don't want her exposed to…" he gestures at Shay and Aveline.

"No," Aveline laughs. "We'll behave. We _did_ manage to raise four children without scarring them too badly."

"One of them turned out to be a pirate," Desmond points out.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Edward complains. He tries to steal his waffle back, but Elena licks it and he changes his mind. "And I think the bigger problem is that one of them grew up into a boring merchant, don't you think? Anyone that chooses _that_ as a career has to be insane, don't they?"

"You can't leave now," Ezio insists, ignoring Edward completely. "We only just got everyone back together! Come on, Desmond! All eight of us are in the same place for the first time _ever_. We're physically in the same place, and none of us is going to just randomly disappear."

"Daddy…" Elena leans against him, chewing on her stolen waffle. "We _can't_ go away."

"See?" Ezio asks. "Even Elena agrees. You can't go."

"I was teasing," Desmond says, hugging Elena. "We won't go anywhere."

"Course not," Elena says cheerfully. "If we leave, mommy won't find us."

There's a beat of silence as everyone looks at Desmond. He turns Elena toward him, tilting her head up to look at him. "Elena," he says. "You should know that, um… well first of all, your mommy loved you very much."

"Me too," Elena says. “I love her too!”

"But she can't come see you. I know she would if she could." He's not sure at all, honestly. He'd had a baby with a woman he barely knew and had then killed. It's not fair, and he has no idea what to tell Elena now.

"So no mommy?" Elena asks. Her face falls, crumpling into a look of absolute disappointment. "But… no _fair_!"

"You have a very big family though," Haytham says, speaking up at last. "Everyone here cares a lot about you, and we'll always be here for you."

"But _mommy_ ," she protests. “Why don’t I get my mommy?”

"Do you want to see a picture?"

They all look over at William when he speaks up. He'd been on the other side of the room, reading something on his computer while everyone else had breakfast. It's become pretty common practice for them all to just ignore him if he's not causing a problem, and normally he does the same.

"Picture of mommy?" Elena asks. Desmond helps her out of her chair and she hops over to William on her good leg. Desmond winces (he keeps _telling_ her not to do that), but doesn't stop her. Elena pauses several feet away from William, nervously twisting her hands together.

"You can come closer," he says, and she hops a tiny bit toward him.

William looks at her, then back at his computer. "It's a little out of date," he says. "But that's your mom."

"Wow!" Elena breathes. She hops the rest of the way over to him, and cranes her neck to see Lucy's picture better. William hesitates, then tentatively rests a hand on the top of her head. She doesn’t move away, and after a few moments, William relaxes.

This seems to satisfy Elena as far as her mother is concerned. She doesn't bring her up again, anyway, which is good enough for Desmond.


	29. Chapter 29

Ezio is planning something, and Edward very badly wants to know what that something is. So maybe he's bored. At least this time he's not running off to get himself shot. Although he would very badly like to run off and do _something_ , at least. Most of the others have at least been out of the safe house to run errands, at least once or twice. Edward, on the other hand, hasn't been allowed out since rescuing Elena. Probably because of the aforementioned getting shot.

Well, it's not like he'd done it on purpose. People keep forgetting that it hadn't exactly been fun for him, they act like he still needs to learn something from it. It would have chafed a bit, except that Haytham hasn't looked at him all disappointed and angry in a while. That's a nice change, nice enough that Edward has more or less managed to behave himself.

At least, until Ezio corners him one day in the middle of the afternoon, when everyone else is busy with other things. "I need to do something stupid," he announces. "And I'll probably need help."

"I'm in," Edward's mouth says, before Edward's brain can think about it.

Ezio nods like this is exactly what he'd been expecting to hear.

"But, ah—there are a lot of kinds of stupid," Edward says. "Which one specifically are you thinking about?"

"I need to steal a Piece of Eden from the templars."

"Because that always ends well," Edward says. He then realizes he's being the voice of reason, and makes a confused face. "Alright. What's this Piece of Eden and why do you need it?"

"The shroud. It—"

"That thing we helped Evie get?” Edward asks. “Didn’t Shaun and Rebecca go to find out where it was?”

Ezio nods. "Only they didn't bring it back."

"I'd noticed," Edward agrees. "The templars got to it first?"

"Yes. So… now we're going to get it back because…?"

"Because it brings people back from the dead and I promised Clay I'd try."

"Well sure," Edward says after some (very quick) consideration. "Why not? We came back to life, didn't we? We're fine."

-//-

They are somewhat _less_ fine when they get back two weeks later, shroud in hand. Edward has not gotten himself shot, although he has been a tiny bit stabbed, and Ezio's eyebrows probably aren't going to grow back any time soon. "You know," Ezio says when they're about a block away from the safe house. "We probably should have said something before we left."

"I thought you said something?" Edward asks.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well I mean…" he gestures vaguely between himself and Ezio. "Out of the two of us, I certainly wasn't going to do it."

"But…" Ezio looks distinctly uncomfortable. "They would have stopped us."

There's quiet for a little bit, and then Edward says, "We're going to be in trouble, aren't we?"

"Oh yes."

"Well—" He starts walking toward the building. It's not like this is the first time he's ever been in trouble. "Might as well get this over with, right?"

"Edward—"

"I'll go in first, and then when everyone's distracted shouting at me, you can sneak in and… and… do you actually know how to use that thing? Don't you need to put it on an actual body? Clay lives on the internet."

Ezio shrugs. "It's a piece of Eden," he says. "It's not like there's ever any hard and fast rules. I guess I'll stick it on his little robot body thing and see if that works."

"Fine," Edward says, although he really can't stop his mind from (not so helpfully) reminding him of the robot uprising movie he'd watched with Desmond about a month back. "But if this is the start of some kind of weird end of the world scenario where we all get eaten by cyborgs, I hope you get eaten first."

Ezio gives him a funny look. "Of course I won't be," he says. "I don't taste good."

Edward is still laughing at this when Ezio calls after him. “Wait!” he says. “Edward?”

“What?”

“Can you…” when Edward turns around, he sees Ezio looking really nervous, almost scared. “You should come in with me. I don’t want to… I mean, if it doesn’t work.”

“Yea,” Edward says. “Yea, no problem. Of course I’ll come with you.”

Sneaking in is as easy as sneaking out had been in the first place. Ezio keeps complaining that they obviously need better security, but Edward thinks it can’t be all bad because how else would they be climbing in through the window? They’d gone in Desmond’s window, because Elena is sleeping in there too, and Clay is most likely to be with her.

“Shh,” Ezio says as Edward joins him inside. “Elena’s asleep.”

“Is Clay here?” Edward asks.

Ezio nods and leans carefully over Elena to grab the drone resting on the bed next to her. “Here,” he says. He holds the little metal body up to eye level, and looks very serious. “Clay,” he says. “We brought a shroud back, alright? We’re going to see if we can use it to bring you back, but I’d like your permission first.”

“Really?” Edward asks. “You could have asked before we left. What happens if he says no?”

Ezio shushes him and looks down at his phone, probably at Clay’s answer. Edward leans over to see as well.

 

 

> The shroud can’t bring people back from the dead.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It’s worth a try!
> 
> It heals injuries. I don’t even have a body.
> 
> Thank you for trying, but…
> 
> It’s not going to work.
> 
>  
> 
> Please, Clay? We went through all this trouble to find this thing
> 
> I think Edward’s going to stab me if it was all for nothing.
> 
> Well…
> 
> I don’t want you to get stabbed.
> 
>  
> 
> :)
> 
> So I can try?
> 
> Yea. Go for it.

“I wouldn’t _actually_ stab you,” Edward grumbles. Ezio completely ignores him.

“Come on,” he says. “Help me get the shroud out.”

It’s in Ezio’s bag, because if it had been in Edward’s bag it would have been lost somewhere on the way back to the safe house. According to Ezio, anyway, because Edward doesn’t think he’s that irresponsible. Hopefully. Either way, they pull the shroud out of Ezio’s bag and shake it out. Ezio looks like he’s about to hesitate but Edward pulls it down over the little drone that is Clay, and--

_**‘what are you trying to do?’** _

The voice is in Edward’s head, and it’s not human but it’s impossible to say what else it might be.

“Precursors,” Ezio says in a voice like a curse.

Oh, well. There’s always that-- Edward probably should have connected the precursor tech to the weird voice in his head.

_**‘what are you trying to do?’** _

The voice asks its question a second time, and Edward eventually answers. “I need to bring him back,” he says.

_**‘he is dead’** _

“Well, yea,” Ezio says. “That’s what the shroud is for.”

_**‘the shroud requires the subject to be both alive and human’** _

“So you can’t help?” Edward asks. “You… whoever you are?”

_**‘i did not say that’** _

“Yes you did!”

_**‘well…’** _

“Please,” Ezio says. “Please.”

_**‘there will be a cost’** _

“That’s fine,” Ezio says. “Whatever the cost is, it’s fine.”

_**‘you agree?’** _

“I agree,” Ezio says. “I’ll pay your cost.”

The thing’s voice goes almost smug.

_**‘what makes you think that you will be the one to pay?’** _

“What?” Ezio asks. “What are you talking about?” His phone is buzzing like mad, Clay most likely, and there is no answer. Just light, and then Ezio and Edward are both thrown backward in a sudden burst of force. Edward hits his head and his vision swims, but he ignores it. When he sits back up, it’s to the sight of a complete stranger that he certainly hopes is Clay. He’s naked, but that probably makes sense. Coming back to life wouldn't regrow his clothes, would it? That wouldn't make any sense.

“Hey,” he says. “Ezio?” He reaches over and whacks Ezio on the shoulder. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Ezio says. “You?”

“Great.”

“So who paid for this?” Ezio asks. “Do you think… any of the others...?”

Suddenly concerned, Edward looks up at Elena on the bed, but she’s still fast asleep and apparently perfectly content. “I’ll go check on the others,” Edward says. “You stay here with--”

“Clay?” Ezio asks, and the two of them turn to look at the other man in the room. He’s getting up more slowly, cradling his head in his hands. But he looks up at his name, and nods.

Edward leaves as Ezio jumps at his descendant.

The common room is packed when Edward leaves Desmond’s room, all his favorite people already there (and none of them looking like they’ve just paid some horrible price for Clay’s revival). Rebecca and Shaun are there as well, as is William, sitting on his own off to the side and looking like he’s doing his best to ignore all the others. Edward looks around, strangely comforted at the sight of all his visitors (minus Ezio, obviously). It's familiar and comfortable and—

_"Dad—"_

And here comes Haytham to shout at him. Edward tenses—of course Haytham had to see him first, he'll be the angriest out of everyone that Ezio and Edward had vanished, and this is going to be no fun at all. He frowns and takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the coming tirade.

"You can't just run off like that," Haytham says, and he sounds far more relieved than angry. "I thought you'd been hurt, and then when you didn't come home I thought you might have been killed."

Haytham actually hugs him, tight and tense. "I thought… you might be dead again."

"Oh, no—" he hugs Haytham back. "No, I'm sorry—I thought Ezio was going to tell everyone but apparently he didn't, so…"

"So you just left us all to worry about the pair of you for two weeks?"

"I… yes."

Haytham steps back and lets Edward go. He frowns and looks at the patch of dried blood soaking through Edward's shirt sleeve. "Well just don't do it again. Every time you go running off, you come back injured. It concerns me."

"Is that it?" Edward asks, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I expected more shouting," Edward says.

Haytham shakes his head. "Later," he says. "When I'm less relieved just to have you alive."

Well, this is turning into a much better homecoming than Edward had expected (apart from the heaps of guilt). Haytham isn't shouting, and no one else seems likely to either. Desmond is the first one to ask about Ezio, but Edward waves him away with a vague mumbled excuse. He is definitely not going to be the one to explain bringing Clay back to life, that’s going to be all Ezio.

“Hey,” he says in a voice of absolutely false calm. “Did anything horrible happen out here in the past few minutes?”

“No,” Altair says, suddenly looking suspicious. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Edward says. “So how’s Elena?”

"She's sleeping," Desmond says, breaking into a grin. As expected, Elena proves a good distraction. "Her cast came off a few days after you left, and I haven't been able to get her to sit still since."

"She won't climb anything," Altair points out softly, and Desmond's smile drops a little.

"Well, yea," he admits. "She won't even use the stairs unless she's carried. But it was a pretty bad break. I'm still hoping she'll get over it."

He doesn't look hopeful. He looks worried, with his face all pinched up and sad. "It's not the end of the world if she won't climb things though, is it?" Edward asks. It might be. Climbing is great, he’s not sure what he would do if he couldn’t climb anymore. But he knows he would have loved Haytham even if he never learned to climb, and he loves Jenny even though she can barely climb trees.

"I just don't want her to be afraid," Desmond says. "Of anything."

He just hears Rebecca swear in surprise, and then Desmond says _"Clay?"_

He turns around and mouths ‘everyone’s okay’ at Ezio, who has just walked in with Clay (still super naked) leaning against him. Ezio looks relieved.

Edward opens his mouth to make a smart comment, but before he can, everything erupts into chaos. There are twelve people in the room, and all of them talking at once. Edward eventually manages to elbow himself close enough to Clay to get a closer look at him. He looks… good.

But really, he looks good. Healthy. Happy. Ezio hugs him as the others press in close, looking fiercely proud and protective. It's the first time Edward has seen Ezio hug someone besides his own children in a way that doesn't seem to imply he wants into their pants.

“You’re sure everyone’s okay?" Ezio asks Edward, when he gets a chance. Clay is saying something to Desmond, gesticulating wildly as Desmond laughs, and Shaun is ranting (blah blah something shroud blah blah blah) semi-incoherently at Rebecca.

“I asked if anything bad happened and they said no,” Edward says. “I don’t know. Maybe someone else got hurt.”

“I hope not,” Ezio says. “I really, really hope not.”  
“Well.” Edward shrugs. “Nothing else to do but wait.”

“Great,” Ezio says. “Just… perfect.”

“Hey,” Edward says. “What happened to the drone?”

Ezio shrugs. “I figured Rebecca might want it back,” he says. “I just left it in Desmond’s room, we can get it later.”

"I'm going to get something to eat," Edward says, heading for the kitchen. "I'm starving."

"So am I!" Clay calls after him.

"Clothes first!" Desmond demands, and Clay laughs at him, but then goes with Desmond willingly enough to find some clothes to borrow. Edward starts rooting around the kitchen, but Connor shakes his head and points him away from the fridge. "You can't cook," he says. "Sit down."

"You can't cook either."

"Both of you sit," Aveline tells them, and her eyes are laughing even though her tone sounds stern. "Shay's cooking."

"I am?"

"You are."

Clay comes back with Desmond, and for a while everything is good. Ezio explains how he and Edward had gone after the shroud three different times, exaggerating more and more with every retelling (Edward catches the tail end of the third iteration, the one where Ezio is insisting they fought through a hundred guards—Edward adds in a dinosaur). William says something about locking the shroud away at one point, far away from templars (he shoots a venomous look at Haytham as he says this). Ezio shrugs and hands it over without complaint. "It did what we needed it to," he says. "Here you go."

And that's the last time the conversation turns serious for quite a while. Shay manages to scrape together something edible, a kind of stew, and he's passing it around when suddenly a shrill, heart rending _scream_ rips through the air. Desmond drops his bowl and it shatters, sending stew bursting across the floor. He runs to the source of the sound before Edward has even processed where it's coming from.

"Elena," he says. "Elena, calm down, tell me what's wrong…"

It is Elena, Edward sees her now. He hadn't heard her wake up, or seen her join the rest of them in the common area. She's crouched on the floor a little way apart from the others, curled around something Edward can't see. She shakes her head and cries, reaching for Desmond with one hand, but the other doesn't let go of whatever it is she's holding. And she won't stop crying. "Broke," she manages to choke out at last, around her tears. _"Broke!"_

"What broke?" He manages to draw her onto his lap and she burrows into him, but doesn't answer. "Elena, tell me please…"

He keeps this up for a while, murmuring soothing words while Elena cries and cries. Finally—and it seems like she's exhausted herself, more than calmed down—the tears stop. She uncurls just a little bit, enough that she can show Desmond what she's holding.

"Oh," Edward whispers when he sees. "Oh no."

"Clay broke," Elena whimpers, holding out the empty drone that isn't Clay anymore. And then she starts crying again. She curls up tight and won't listen when Desmond tries to explain—on the other side of the room, Clay's face is all horrified guilt, frozen in his place.

Edward sees him mouth 'oh shit' as Elena's crying only gets louder and louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know what the shroud took in exchange for bringing Clay back to life? Check out [Visiting Hours Chapter 84](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4817489/chapters/13472845) for the answer.


	30. Chapter 30

Eventually, Desmond takes Elena back to their room to try and calm her, because being around everyone else certainly isn't helping things. He manages (after quite a bit of persuasion) to convince Elena to let go of the useless little robot body she's been hanging onto. He passes it off to Haytham on the way out, and shuts himself and Elena inside their room.

Haytham sighs and sits down, coincidentally in the seat next to Clay. The two of them stare at the little robot for a while in silence. Then Clay says, "I didn't think she'd react like that."

"I don't think it ever really occurred to her that you're a person," Haytham says carefully. It's taking him some adjustment to wrap his mind around it himself. Clay isn't exactly what he'd imagined—Haytham has never met him in person, or even in the animus. He's never even seen a picture, and Clay doesn't really look the way Haytham had pictured him. When the man had first appeared, Haytham hadn't even realized what was going on, hadn't realized that it was Clay in the room with them. He's still reeling, even though he'd known Clay is human rather than a robot, and even though he's an adult with a lifetime worth of dealing with strange things instead of a two year old girl. It's no wonder Elena had reacted the way she did.

"I wish I could explain," Clay says. "I'm right here, and she's crying over me like I'm dead."

"She likes you," Haytham says.

"She likes you too," Clay says. "She's a sweet kid—as far as I can tell, she likes pretty much everyone."

For a second both of them look up, across the room at William. He's looking at them, and there's an awkward moment when Haytham and William look one another right in the eye. Haytham can't… _quite_ read the expression on William's face, and then William sneers and looks away. Haytham turns back to Clay, and he offers up a strange little half smile. "Do you want this back?" he asks, holding up the drone.

"I think I've outgrown it a little," Clay says. But he takes it anyway. The whole thing fits in the palm of his hand. "But…" he pauses, considering. "I think I might know someone else that could use it."

"Really?" Haytham asks doubtfully. "You know someone else stuck on the internet that could use a robot body?"

"Maybe," Clay says. "Not exactly the internet, we couldn't get him out of the animus before. But I'm willing to give it another try. I don't know if he'll ever get his body back, but—"

"Are you talking about Owen?" Aveline interrupts, leaning over to talk to them. In her eagerness, she presses herself far too close to Haytham—he shifts himself away from the feel and the smell of her. "You're going to help him?"

"Hopefully," Clay says. "But maybe—" a high, keening wail rises up suddenly from Elena's room, muffled behind the wall, and then fades back into quieter crying. "Maybe not right away."

Aveline sighs. "Poor kid," she says. "You know, Clay, I think she really likes you."

"She just wants friends," Clay says. "More than her visitors, I mean."

"What's wrong with visitors?" Haytham asks.

"Nothing," Clay says quickly. "I wish I had some—it'd make the hard parts of life a little bit less hard, if I had friends like that. I'm glad Elena does. She needs them. But her entire life until you guys got her out of Abstergo was a small room and cruel people. She needs every friend she can possibly get."

Haytham nods, and they sit in silence for a little while. Elena doesn't really seem to be quieting down (poor Clay looks more miserable and guilty the longer they wait), and it's all any of them can concentrate on at the moment.

"This is ridiculous," William grumbles eventually. He gets up and heads toward Desmond's door. Haytham is on his feet and striding after him before he actually processes what's going on.

"Don't go in there," he says, grabbing William by the shoulder to stop him from moving any farther. "You are not what either of them needs right now."

"I am his father," William insists. "And I'm _her_ grandfather, despite whatever… whatever fucked up delusion the three of you have come up with."

He starts to move toward the door, again, and Haytham grabs him, again. Holds him tighter this time, because he's angry and he wants to protect Desmond and Elena from the _thing_ they are unfortunate enough to be descended from. He feels like something in him is on fire with rage, snapping and burning in response to words that had obviously been intended to hurt. Well, William had hit his mark, he’d called Haytham’s family, the family he has waited his whole life to find, nothing but a _fucked up delusion_. They are real. They _are_ a family. "I told you not to go in there," Haytham says again.

Apart from the sound of Elena continuing to cry, everything is silent. The air is heavy and tense, and Haytham is suddenly having a hard time breathing. This… this thing between himself and William has been building for a long time, in little biting comments and cold looks, in terse disagreements and pointed silences. He'd tried to keep it from coming to a head, because he's honestly not sure which of them is going to come out on top but he knows it will be messy and awful for everyone involved.

“I'm going in,” William says, in a voice that is very calm, almost unnaturally so. But there is a challenge in it too, and Haytham doesn't like the sound of it. “Because there is no _reason_ for her to be crying. Teach a child it's alright to cry, and it will never stop—"

That's when Haytham hits him. A lifetime of instincts are telling him to aim for somewhere that will do permanent damage, but at the last second he manages to redirect his blow to William's face (and he remembers when he'd seen William hit Desmond just like this). "Is that what you did to Desmond?" he shouts (but he doesn't just shout, he _roars_ , roars like the lion Desmond had once trusted him to watch). "You told him not to cry, told him it was weak—"

"And he just cried more—"

William is trying to get up, trying to hit back, but he's—he's _horrible_ , and Haytham kicks him because somebody has to. And then Shay's hand is on his arm, pulling him back and Haytham knows from Shay's face that he's gone too far, he shouldn't have done that.

And he knows something else.

He knows that he can't stay.

Haytham turns, pulling away from Shay. This has been good. Staying here, playing at having a family. Pretending that just for once things could go right. As if they ever do. The truth is, this is an assassin safe house. It is a place where assassins live, and somehow Haytham has allowed himself to believe he would be welcome here. Maybe, if it were just Desmond—or even Rebecca and Shaun, they seem to have adapted well enough to the way things are going here—maybe then Haytham would have been able to stay. But he should have known he would never be able to stay in the same building with William _fucking_ Miles.

He's halfway down the stairs before anyone else realizes what's going on. Shay comes after him first, and he doesn't say anything. There's no protest, no _don't go_ or _you have to stay_. "I'm leaving," Haytham says anyway, even though both of them already know. He wants to say it out loud, because then maybe it will seem more like a fact and less like some terrible future. 'This _is going to_ happen,' not 'this _might_ happen.'

"I know," Shay says. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to."

Shay almost laughs. "Do you really think William's going to let me stay here after you beat him up in front of everyone? One templar's as good as another, that's what he'll think. He's angry at you, but we both know he'll take it out on me. I'd rather leave now, when it's my own choice."

"What about Aveline?"

They're at the bottom of the stairs now, and they both pause to look up. Aveline—of course—is at the top of the stairs and on her way down.

"She's coming too," Shay says softly, and when Aveline catches up to the pair of them, he takes her hand and squeezes gently. "You _are_ coming with us, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't stay in a place where you're not welcome," Aveline says seriously. "And I'd follow you anywhere."

They start giving each other a dangerous look. Haytham _knows_ that look. He's certainly spent enough time with the two of them to be able to recognize when they want to tear each other's clothes off. They really don't have time for that now.

"You've only been in this century a few weeks, though," Haytham says to Aveline, trying to get their attention off each other and back to the idea of leaving. "You don't know what it's like here."

"None of us knows what it's really like to be on our own in this time," she says calmly. "I imagine you'll be just as useless as me. We'll figure it out together."

"And anyway—Ezio and Edward went running off," Shay points out. "They should have some kind of idea." And just then (almost like he's been waiting for the sound of his own name), Edward comes running down the stairs after them. Haytham groans aloud, and shakes his head.

"No," he says firmly. "You can't come with us."

"What?" Edward's voice and face are outraged. "Why not?"

"Because every time you leave a safe house, you come back hurt!"

"I do not!"

"You haven't even been treated for being stabbed yet," Haytham says, exasperated. His sleeve is a mess of slowly leaking blood already. "You have to stay here."

Edward crosses his arms. "I will not!" he protests. "You need your family with you, and I need you to know that I'm on your side."

"I do know," Haytham says, mostly to reassure Edward, so he'll do as he's told for once in his life and stay here. "I know you care, and I know you want to come. But you don't have to, alright?"

Edward looks crushed. "If I go back up there and kick the shit out of William," he says, "can I go with you?"

"No!"

"Oh…" he sighs. "But then—this is goodbye."

"For now." His chest hurts. "Yes. I suppose it is."

Edward hugs Haytham, then turns back toward the stairs. And brightens. "Connor!"

"No," Haytham complains. "Not you too?"

"I told you weeks ago that I was ready to leave," Connor says. "And after that, I know it's time."

"Why don't we all just leave?" Edward suggests. "That could work."

"We can't," Connor says.

"Not everyone would want to," Haytham mutters, nodding.

"No," Connor says. "That's not it—you didn't hear the argument upstairs after you left." He's looking Haytham square in the eye, so that Haytham couldn't have doubted him even if he'd wanted to. "We'd all come with you if we could. But Desmond can't drop everything and leave, not with Elena. And Clay probably shouldn't be traveling yet either. So Ezio's staying with them, because you know how he is with Clay. And Altair's staying because—I don't know. Because the assassins are everything to him, and he's not ready to leave yet."

"Great," Haytham says. "Edward, you stay with Desmond, Ezio and Altair."

Edward makes a face, but then he nods. "Fine. But don't expect me to be nice to the bastard."

"I never expect you to be nice to anyone," Haytham says.

Edward seems torn between looking pleased and insulted. "Get a phone or something," he says. "You know Ezio's number, right?" Haytham nods. "Call."

And that's it. There's nothing more to say. They linger together for a moment, and then Edward goes back upstairs, and the rest of them… leave.

They have nowhere to go but they go anyway. It's cold outside, snowing, and Haytham sighs. This isn't going to be easy.


	31. Chapter 31

So now they are four.

Only an hour ago, there had been eight visitors in the safe house, and now there are only four.

"I’m sorry," Clay tells Ezio, when it's just the two of them left in the common area. He sounds helplessly surprised, almost lost. The others had been wearing similar expressions when they drifted away to be on their own, all but William who'd looked viciously triumphant. Like he'd just won something by driving Haytham away. Like he hadn’t just firmly cemented himself as a monster in the minds of all those present--Ezio had even heard Rebecca muttering rude things about him, and she’s never been more than polite to Haytham. Well, she doesn’t know him as well as the others.

"It's definitely not your fault," Ezio tells Clay. "You should never have to apologize for being alive."

"But if Elena hadn't started crying, the argument wouldn't have happened. And she wouldn't have been crying if I—"

"Stop," Ezio says firmly. "Just stop, alright? What happened today would have happened eventually even if you hadn't gotten involved. They would have fought over something."

"Well I really wish it hadn't been me," Clay says. "I have an actual body for all of—what, half an hour? And I already managed to mess things up."

"At least it can't get any worse," Ezio says cheerfully, and Clay gives him a stricken look.

"Don't _say_ that!" he protests. "Things always get worse after you say that!!"

Ezio laughs (although he's not entirely sure that Clay is joking), and tries to think of something reassuring to say. Before he can, though, Desmond comes back out of his room with Elena. Her face is a mess, red and wet and sort of wrinkled up from where she's been crying. She's walking on her own, sort of—she leans against Desmond's side like she'll fall over otherwise, and her tiny hand is wrapped up tight in his.

Desmond leads her to where Clay and Ezio are sitting (Ezio can't help noticing that Clay looks suddenly very nervous). Then he kneels down so he's on the same level as his daughter. "Elena," he says. "I want to tell you something very important, alright?"

She nods, just a fraction.

"When you're visiting your special friends," Desmond says. "Have you ever seen any of them use each other's bodies?"

Elena thinks about it for a minute, then nods. "Sometimes."

"Well you see, Clay was doing something like that when he was in his robot body," Desmond explains. "He was just borrowing it for a little while because his body was… sick."

"Bad sick?"

Pretty bad, Ezio thinks. He'd technically been dead.

"Sort of," Desmond says lightly. "But he's all better now, so he doesn't have to use his little robot body anymore. That's why it's not moving around the way it usually does."

"He's a person?" Elena asks.

"Yes."

"I thought he was a robot!" Elena says. "He's my special robot friend."

"He's a very special person friend too," Ezio says, and Elena looks up at him.

"Did _you_ know he was a person?" she asks.

"I did," Ezio says.

"I didn't!"

"It's complicated, honey," Desmond says. He strokes her hair softly, tucking a stray piece behind her ear. She's still a mess from all the crying, but then Desmond's gesture doesn't seem to be so much about cleaning her up as it is about comforting her. Touching, reassuring, just being there. It seems to be enough, because although Elena's eyes are watering and she sniffs several times, she doesn't actually start crying again. "We didn't think Clay could get better, so we didn’t want to tell you."

She looks at him. "But he's okay?"

"He's very okay," Desmond promises. He glances up sideways at Clay, like he's asking for permission. Clay hesitates just a moment, then nods. Desmond grins and opens his mouth, presumably to explain to Elena that the man sitting two feet away from them is the same person she's been crying over all this time.

"Why did he have to go away?" Elena blurts out, before Desmond can say anything at all. "He could still play with me!"

"No, Elena—hey."

" _Daddy_ —" her voice rises into a high pitched whine, and her eyes start to water.

"Elena, baby, Clay didn't go anywhere."

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Her whole face furrows up in confusion, tears drying up, and then finally she turns to look up at Clay. She edges sideways and grabs for Desmond's hand without looking (he takes it at once). "Clay?" she asks, but there's a thick note of disbelief in her voice.

"Yea, that's—" he stops and clears his throat. "That's me."

Elena studies him in silence, frowning. "You're a grown up," she says. It sounds like an accusation. "Will you still play with me?"

"Yes."

She considers this. "Do you still want to be my friend?"

"Of course, Elena."

"Oh."

Elena abruptly pulls her hand away from Desmond's and darts forward toward Clay, jumping up on the couch between him and Ezio. She hits him in the arm, then hugs him tight across the chest. "Don't do that again," she scolds him. "No more dying!"

"No more dying," Clay agrees. "I'm definitely not planning on doing that again any time soon."

"Good," Elena mutters, and then she squirms away and runs back to her room.

Desmond lets her go, shoulders sagging a little in relief. "Parenting is hard," he admits to the other two when she's safely out of earshot.

"You're doing well," Ezio assures him as Desmond sort of sits and sort of collapses onto the couch next to him.

"I wish I could do better," Desmond sighs. "I _should_ be better. It took so long to calm her down today, and there wasn't even anything wrong."

"Well this wasn't exactly a normal situation," Ezio points out. "How do you tell a child that their dead robot friend is now an alive human friend? It's not exactly covered in the manual."

"There's a manual?"

"I wish," Ezio says. "But if there was, that wouldn't be in it."

"At least you don't have to worry about her being a good assassin when she's older," Clay grumbles, rubbing at his arm. "She packs quite a punch for a kid that's not even three."

Ezio frowns at this. "Is she going to be an assassin?" he asks, looking at Desmond.

"I haven't even thought about it yet," Desmond says. He sounds mildly horrified. "How can I think about training her to kill people? I can't do that now, she's still practically a baby. She's _my_ baby." He shakes his head, firm and far more decisive than usual. "No. I can't keep it a secret from her, not while she's living with all of us. And anyway, half her visitors are assassins. But I won't force her to be one herself."

Is that right, about the visitors? Ezio counts them in his head—Darim and Jacob and Rory and Matthew are assassins. Jeanne's a templar. Jenny, as far as he knows, has managed to keep herself out of the fight. Marcello… he has no idea what Marcello had made of his life, and he hasn't thought to worry until now. Ezio had worked so hard to keep the assassins away from his children, but he's suddenly very aware that his son had been surrounded by assassins his entire life. Maybe he'd joined the brotherhood himself. Later, when she's calmer, he'll have to ask Elena if she knows.

"She can choose for herself when she's older," Desmond goes on, pulling Ezio's thoughts back to the present moment. "But I'm not forcing the assassins on her. I'm not going to start training her as soon as she can run around and follow directions, the way my dad did with me—that's an _awful_ way to grow up."

Ezio and Clay exchange a look.

"Speaking of dad," Desmond sighs. "Where is he? I heard shouting while I was holed up with Elena, was someone having a fight?"

"Right," Ezio says. "You missed that."

"Missed what?"

"Haytham beat the crap out of your dad," Clay reports, with rather more satisfaction than Ezio had expected to hear.

"You sound weirdly happy about that," Ezio says.

"He did send me into Abstergo to infiltrate the animus program," Clay says bitterly. "And then didn't pull me out when I started bleeding. I might not have killed myself if he'd been there when he was supposed to. He deserved a good beating."

"But why now?" Desmond asks. 

"He was going to go shout at Elena for crying," Ezio says, and Desmond stiffens.

"He's not allowed to do that," he says. "She's _my_ daughter, not his."

"That's what Haytham seemed to think, yes," Ezio agrees.

"So…" Desmond glances around. "Everyone's lying low after that? Is that what's going on?"

"Not exactly," Ezio admits. "Haytham… left."

"Left?"

"It was sort of—" Ezio finds himself fumbling uncomfortably for something to say. "It wasn't good, Desmond. I don't know if walking out was the right thing to do, but I understand why he would think it was."

"He just…" something has slipped in Desmond's face and voice. Suddenly, he doesn't look like anyone's father, he doesn't even look old enough to be a father. He just looks like a lost little boy. The expression on his face is strikingly similar to Elena's when she'd thought Clay had left without saying goodbye. "He's just gone?" Desmond asks. "Did he say where he's going? Or… or when he's coming back?"

Ezio hesitates, and Desmond looks away. "Oh. What about everyone else?"

"Edward's sulking because Haytham wouldn't let him go with," Ezio says. "Because he gets shot or stabbed every time he leaves. And Altair's in his room doing—something. Your dad’s around somewhere. Shaun and Rebecca are in their room."

"And everyone else?"

"They went with Haytham."

"Oh," Desmond says. Again. Softer. "I would have gone with him too, if he'd asked. Why didn't he ask?"

"You would have gone with him, really?" Ezio asks, raising his eyebrows. "Would you have brought Elena with you? Away from the safe house, where it would be easier for Abstergo to find her? They can't be happy to have lost her."

"I—"

"Or would you have left her behind?"

Desmond's eyes flash, and some of his confidence seems to come suddenly back. "No," he says. "Never."

"Haytham left because that's what he had to do," Ezio says. "You stayed because that's what _you_ had to do."

"Yes," Desmond agrees. "But not for long."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't just drop everything and leave with Elena," Desmond says. "But there are other safe houses in other parts of the world. I'll look around, find somewhere we can go. Somewhere without my dad."

Part of Ezio wants to point out that running from safe house to safe house isn't going to do them much good in the long run. They need to learn to live in the world, not keep hiding from it. But on the other hand, getting as far from William Miles as possible is definitely a step in the right direction.

"Right," Desmond says. He stands up abruptly and looks around for a second. Then he takes a deep breath. Then he shouts " _Dad!_ " at the top of his lungs, angry and loud and impatient. " _Dad!_ "

For a moment there's nothing, and then William comes out of his room, looking bruised and unhappy but also viciously pleased at having an excuse to lecture Desmond. He's already ranting when he gets within earshot, something about Desmond being a horrible, irresponsible parent and letting Elena do whatever she wants. Ezio hears _templar lover_ in there once or twice as well. William spits it out like it's the worst insult he can come up with.

"Shut up!" Desmond shouts over his ongoing rant. "Just _shut up_!"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," William growls.

"Don't you dare talk to me at all!" Desmond says. "That's it, I'm done. I ran away from you and your bullshit once already, but I'm done running away now." He steps right up into his father's face. "I am done with you. _Dad_." He says it mockingly, sarcastic and hurtful. "You're the worst excuse for a parent I can imagine getting stuck with, and I am not going to expose Elena to you for a second longer than is necessary. The second I find somewhere safe to take her, we're leaving. I don't know how long that's going to take, but we're done _now_. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to Elena."

"You can't do that," William snaps. "I am your _father_ , Desmond, and you can't just decide—"

"Haytham Kenway is my father," Desmond says. "As far as I'm concerned. He cares for me. You only care for you." He offers a sarcastic smile that Ezio thinks he must have picked up from Haytham. "Thanks for the genes, though. I'm related to Haytham through you, actually, so really, _thanks_. It's the only thing you ever gave me that's worth anything."

William tries to hit him, then, but Desmond catches his fist. He raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head almost pityingly. "Goodbye," he says, letting go of William's hand. He turns his back and heads toward his own room. Elena is hovering in the doorway, clutching her lion and frowning nervously at Desmond.

"Daddy okay?" she asks hesitantly.

"Better than ever," Desmond says. He sweeps her up and kisses her forehead. "I love you, baby. You know that, right?"

She nods emphatically, and wraps her arms around his neck.

When they're safely inside their room, Ezio starts to laugh. He's not planning on it, but he just—can't help it. Next to him, Clay is clapping like he's just seen some masterful performance, and Edward pokes his head out of his and Haytham's-- of just his room, to see what's going on.

"Desmond just disowned William," Clay explains, and Edward brightens. He looks _almost_ as cheerful as he had until before Haytham left. He joins in the general racket, booing loudly.

William stays where he is for longer than Ezio had expected him to, slowly turning red. It looks like embarrassment, rather than anger. In the end, he goes back to his room and slams the door behind him.


	32. Chapter 32

They move around for the first week, going from place to place, never staying more than a single night anywhere. Haytham is concerned that they're standing out too much, that they're making mistakes without even being aware they're making them. Finally, Aveline puts her foot down and tells him to stop it.

"People will just think we're strange," she says firmly. "Which is fine. They won't think we're time travelers or assassins or templars. They'll think we're odd." The four of them—Haytham and Aveline and Shay and Connor—are in yet another unremarkable hotel, and Haytham and Aveline are arguing across the too-small table next to the bed. Having something between them makes it seem like they're more divided than they really are, somehow.

"They'll talk about us though," Haytham says. "They'll gossip—"

"I hadn't thought you would care what people think about you," Aveline says.

"I don't," Haytham says impatiently. "But it will draw attention to us. We absolutely cannot afford that."

The go on arguing, and Shay catches himself slinking away from them in the probably vain hope that neither of them will notice. It's very uncomfortable when his grandmaster and his wife start arguing like this. Sooner or later, one of them is going to demand he give his opinion, and he'll be expected to agree with them. And then the other one will be upset that he hadn't agreed with _them_ , and then—

"Here," Connor grunts, slamming something onto the table between them. They look like computer printouts, which means Connor must have figured out how to use a printer. He's turning out to be surprisingly good at figuring out twenty first century technology—the other day, he'd even managed to make a perfectly edible breakfast using the waffle maker at the hotel they'd been staying with at the time. "This is where we're going."

"What?"

Connor points at the papers, starts pointing out some new place they can stay in some other part of the country. Then Aveline asks why they have to stay in the country, wouldn't it be easier to stay hidden if they can move in and out, and then Connor points out they're not quite at the passport forging stage yet, and Shay lets his mind drift away from the conversation. He's thinking about where this is going in the long term—is this really their future?

"Shouldn't we be doing something?" he asks. "More than just… jumping around from place to place? Shouldn't we have a plan?"

Connor shrugs. "I don't know what there is for us to do here," he says. "Do you have any ideas?"

"No," Shay admits. "Not yet."

There's silence in the aftermath of that question. What _are_ they going to do? It's not like they have plans, or any ties to… well, to anyone. The only people they know in the world are in a safe house in Wisconsin, and there's no chance of seeing them anytime soon. Haytham had picked up a phone at the first place they stopped. Well, the second—the first store had ended in mass confusion when the poor salesman there tried to upsell them into a smartphone when all they'd wanted was a simple thing like Ezio's. The man had prattled on and on about dimensions and operating systems and capacity and then trailed off into silence when he realized all four of his customers were staring at him in blank incomprehension.

The disinterested clerk at the next store had pointed them at a shelf labelled 'prepaid phones' and then gone back to talking to her coworker.

The point being, Haytham has a phone now. He's called Desmond once or twice a day since then, and the one thing that's made abundantly clear is that no one has any idea what they should be doing. The people they'd left behind at the safe house are just as directionless as the four of them are, wandering around the country with no clear destination. They can't look to each other to figure out what they'll do next. They're just going to have to figure it out for themselves.

Shay isn't entirely sure he wants to be a templar in this time. He believes firmly in everything he'd fought for in his own time, but the templars here are… well, they're Abstergo. They'd kidnapped Desmond and locked him up and driven him _insane_ , just for a start. Shay's inclined to dislike them just for that, because Desmond is a visitor and a friend, but sometimes he stops and thinks about all the other people they must have treated the same way. Clay had sliced himself open to get away. Owen had died using the animus, so lost he still can't remember the name he'd been born with.

And how many other people, all over the world, has Abstergo done the same or worse to?

He doesn't want to be a templar in this century, but he _can't_ be an assassin. For one thing, William Miles is the mentor, and Shay sort of doubts he'd be allowed in even if he wanted to be. For another—well, Lisbon had been a very long time ago now, and Shay still has nightmares about it. Sometimes he just dreams he's getting dressed in his assassin robes, that's it, nothing horrible or traumatic or awful, just getting dressed. And then he'll look down and see the assassin's symbol on his clothes, and he'll wake up shaking.

He doesn't want to go back there. To being that person.

_No._

But what is he supposed to do without a purpose? He's been in either the brotherhood or the order since he was old enough to start thinking about what he wanted from life, and without that, he doesn't know what's left. He doesn't even have his children around him anymore—they would have been a noble purpose to commit himself to, helping them to be as successful and happy as possible. He could have been contented with that, but… well, his children are long dead now.

He glances over at Aveline, wondering abruptly if they can have more children. Why not? They're young again, and the both of them had adored being parents. But he doesn't just want to replace the children they've already had, he doesn't want to—

It occurs to Shay suddenly that this might be the wrong time to be thinking about having kids.

"Shay?" Aveline pokes at him. "We're leaving. Are you with us?"

"Just distracted," he sighs.

"With what?"

"You," he says, because he knows it will make her smile and drop the subject. It does exactly that, and Shay follows her out of the room in silence. He's just not ready to talk about this, not even to her, not until he knows more about what he's thinking.

He doesn't need to bother Aveline with this, and he absolutely will not do so.

-//-

"…and I'm just _worried_ ," Shay tells her an hour later. They're on a train heading for the place Connor had found. After that they'll take a bus, and then walk to the hotel. They'll get there just in time to crash for a few hours, then get up and hurry to their next temporary space. Being on the run in this century, where people can cross an entire country in a matter of hours, is difficult. It feels like they can never run far or fast enough to really be safe.

"I'm worried…" Shay hesitates. "I'm worried because we can't keep doing this. Jumping around from place to place, planning for the short term, not _fighting_ for anything, not—not…"

She waits patiently for Shay to stutter his way into silence, rubbing his back comfortingly. "Shay," she says at last. "How long have we been in this century?"

He shrugs. "A few months for me," he says. "And a few weeks for you. Why?"

"Because the world is different now," Aveline says patiently. "Everything about it is different. It's not just computers and cars and cell phones, it's the way people think and interact with each other. How are we supposed to adapt to that so quickly? It will take time to find out where we belong in it."

"Don't you worry?"

"No."

"How are you so calm about this?" he demands.

Aveline laughs at him. "It's sort of fun," she says. "Figuring it out and adapting." She settles herself close up against him, the way she had a million times before. "Besides, not everything has to change. There's still you and me. There will _always_ be you and me, Shay. Everything else will come later, but for now, that's what I'm hanging onto."

He smiles hesitantly, only a little bit soothed.

The train rumbles on. Around them, people are messing with their phones or staring out the window. Haytham and Connor are several rows away, and Shay wonders what they're talking about. Then he wonders what's going on back at the safe house. And then he's just thinking about visitors, about all their visitors, about how unbelievably stupid it is that they've all been split up like this.

"Shay?" Aveline asks, and Shay realizes he's gone stiff. "Shay, what's wrong? Are you still worried? Are—"

"We have to go back," Shay says.

"To the hotel?" Aveline asks, startled.

"To the safe house."

"What?" she gapes at him. " _Why_?"

"Because—because we never should have left," he says. "Or we should have all left together. Those are our only two options, and we messed it up when we went our separate ways. Look, we know Desmond fell out with William, we know he wants to leave. I'm sure Clay must be feeling better by now, so Ezio should feel better about leaving.” Haytham is still calling Desmond twice a day, and Shay is pretty sure he would have said something if Clay is having a hard time adjusting to having his body back. They can stay, or go, or whatever, but they need to go back, right now, and figure it all out together.

He gets up and strides over to where the other two are sitting in silence, a careful amount of space between them. The train shakes and rattles below his feet, but Shay is used to the _Morrigan_ , and barely even notices the motion. "Haytham," he says, dropping into an empty seat next to the grandmaster. "We need to go back."

"But William will still be there—"

"Desmond," Shay says firmly, and Haytham's face flickers indecisively.

Aveline follows Shay over, and sits as well. He feels stronger with her next to him, and better with Haytham and Connor nearby. _Visitors_. They're meant to be together, meant to support each other when they need support, always, unconditionally. Especially now that they're physically in the same time, there should be no reason for the eight of them to be apart. And if there _is_ a reason, if there is something strong enough to justify their group of eight becoming two fragments of four, that reason is _certainly_ not William Miles.

"We can't just turn around now," Haytham says stiffly. "I burned bridges when I hit William, and the rest of you burned bridges when you followed me out."

"He does have a point, though," Connor says softly. "We should be together."

"We can't go back now, though," Haytham says. "I certainly can't. The rest of you would probably have some difficulty as well."

"I think it's worth trying," Shay says. "Because we can run as far as we want, we can go anywhere in the world, but the only place we'll ever belong is with our visitors."

Haytham hesitates, and then very slowly nods. "I suppose," he says with a sigh. "That this means I'll have to apologize to the man."

"We probably all will," Connor says glumly.

"Might even have to beg," Haytham says sadly. "I don't particularly want to beg for anything from that man. Certainly not forgiveness."

The train rumbles quietly onward.

"Still," Haytham goes on after a moment. "I'd rather beg from him than lose Desmond. Or any of our visitors."

They switch trains at the next station, heading back the other way.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI I published two chapters right in a row because I have never been happy with how chapter 32 turned out. I felt bad about only posting a slow chapter so I added a second one. :)
> 
> In other words, you might want to go back and read the previous chapter.

Haytham calls Desmond when they're only a few minutes out from the safe house to explain that they're coming back. Shay and Aveline are scouting the area, making sure they haven't been followed. They've been lucky so far, but that's no reason to let their guard down. Connor stands at his father's elbow, listening to as much of the conversation as he can hear over the phone's tinny speaker. He's told Haytham a dozen times at least to call and explain, but Haytham keeps putting it off—Connor thinks he's nervous. Maybe about seeing Desmond again. More likely about apologizing to William. It does seem an unenviable task.

"Desmond," Haytham says. He sounds even stiffer than normal when he talks on the phone. "Hello."

"Hey," Desmond says. Connor can just barely hear his answer over the phone. "What's wrong? You don't usually call in the middle of the day."

"Well," Haytham begins. "There's something important I need to tell—"

"Grandpa!" Haytham starts a bit and pulls the phone a few inches away from his ear. Then he shrugs and gives up, switching the phone to speaker so he won't lose the hearing in one ear. Connor can't help noticing that he doesn't look particularly upset as Elena keeps shouting into the phone. "Grandpa, are you coming home soon? I miss you lots and daddy misses you lots and _Edward_ misses you lots. I saw him cry yesterday and he said it was just his eyes sweating and he doesn't cry but I think he was sad. And Jenny visited and said Edward was crying too, and she's smart so she was probably right. Come home please?"

"Elena," Desmond says. "We talked about this, remember? Grandpa had to go away for a while, and he might not be home for—"

"We're on our way home now," Haytham interrupts. Connor just barely restrains a laugh at the fondness in his father's voice.

"You are?" Desmond asks. "Why—"

He doesn't bother finishing the question. There's no way Haytham would have been able to hear it over Elena's sudden, excited squeal. "Daddy!" she shouts. "Daddy, did you hear?"

"I did," Desmond agrees. "Why don't you go tell everyone else?"

"Okay!" she chirps, and then Connor can hear her shouting Clay's name as she goes running away.

"Haytham," Desmond says, when Elena's gone. "Not that I don't want to see you, but are you sure that's a good idea? I mean… it's just that you're not exactly popular around here."

"We've been talking," Haytham says. "And the conclusion we came to is more or less that there isn't much point to being anywhere but with our visitors. So we're coming back."

"Shay was very convincing," Connor adds, because he feels like he should add something. "He pointed out that we really need to be together. All the visitors."

"There's still going to be William to deal with," Desmond says nervously. "He hasn't calmed down at all since you left. I think he might even be angrier."

"I'm prepared to apologize," Haytham says.

"I think he might be expecting more than that if you come back," Desmond says cautiously.

"Like hell freezing over," Ezio says. His voice sounds distant, like he's shouting at the phone from the other side of the room.

"Hello, Ezio," Haytham says tiredly. "Always a pleasure to hear from you."

"He punched a hole in a wall," Ezio says, ignoring Haytham's tone. "Edward called him a child."

" _Edward_ called him a child?" Haytham repeats, almost disbelieving. "Really?"

"Oh yes," Ezio says. "And then we all laughed at him."

"So he's been beaten and embarrassed because of me," Haytham says. He sighs, which sounds angrier than it should over the phone. "That will _certainly_ make things better."

"Is everyone else coming back too?" Desmond asks. "Connor, are you and Shay and Aveline coming with him?"

"Of course," Connor confirms.

Desmond breathes out—it sounds like a sigh of relief, but it's hard to be certain without being in the same place. "When will you be here?" he asks. "Soon?"

"Soon," Haytham confirms, a soft smile curving his lips. "Within the hour, as long as we haven't been tracked here."

"An hour? Really?" He manages to gather himself and reign in his excitement a bit. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Shay and Aveline come back then, and Connor misses the tail end of the phone conversation while he's talking to them. As far as the two of them have been able to tell, they are still unobserved. "But who knows?" Shay asks, with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. "With cameras and whatever everywhere. Abstergo could know exactly where we are, and what would we be able to do about it? We wouldn't know until it's too late."

"Just another reason to hurry back to the safe house," Aveline says, as if they _need_ another one. They are apart from each other and they should be together. It's as simple as that.

"Right," Haytham says, breezing past them with a no nonsense gesture. He slips his phone into a pocket and starts heading home—back to the safe house. "Time to go."

This last part of the journey seems the longest, even if it is technically both shorter and easier. They keep their eyes open for any sign that they are being followed, but there is nothing. No one. Connor starts to relax, just a hair. Maybe no one is following them. Maybe—

Aveline goes down with a little cry, so quickly that Connor finds himself standing still, gaping like an idiot, staring at the empty place where his friend had been just a moment ago. But he (and technically Aveline) are the only ones that have gone still—Shay has dropped to his knees so suddenly that he tears the skin there. Connor can see blood on the ground, an almost laughably small amount compared to what's leaking from Aveline. She's been shot. _Shot_. Haytham's face is a mask of outrage as he steps forward, between Shay and Aveline, and wherever the shot had come from. His eyes gleam gold, presumably searching for whoever had shot Aveline, and after a moment he obviously finds them.

"Stay," he barks at Connor, shoving him back when Connor makes to follow. "Watch them!"

Connor would have argued—Shay is more than capable of defending his wife, and he wants to help—but the words die unspoken on his tongue. No, Shay doesn't look capable of doing anything just at this moment. He's gone almost as pale as Aveline, and his fingers shake even as he tries to stop the bleeding. He's whispering to her, pleading don't die, don't die, don't do this to me, don't leave me alone…

Connor sets his jaw and slips into a ready stance. He's not wearing any weapons besides his hidden blades, and suddenly that feels woefully inadequate. He wishes he had a gun himself, or at least his bow. Weapons in this century are stronger than the ones he's used to, with better range and more accuracy. Whoever had shot Aveline could be a very long way off, and they could shoot the rest of them before Connor even has a chance to fight back.

He stays like that for what seems like a long time, watching and listening, waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, not until Haytham suddenly reappears at the end of the street, dragging a man Connor doesn't recognize. When he checks in eagle vision though, the man is an impossibly bright, glaring red.

Haytham drops him on the ground in front of Aveline, carefully keeping her out of his reach, and leans over, thrusting his blade up against the man's neck. "This _thing_ ," he tells Connor, in a good approximation of a normal tone. "Was just about to explain who he is and why he's shooting at us."

At Aveline, he means. Connor half turns, but his view of the other assassin is blocked almost entirely by Shay's body. He can just barely see the rise and fall of her chest, but it's too slow and irregular to be reassuring.

When he turns back to Haytham, Connor is not entirely surprised to see that Haytham has begun interrogating the shooter, using his particular method of punching them until they give in. He'd done much the same to Church, Connor remembers, except that Connor had eventually pulled his father away on that occasion. He has no intention of doing so this time. Aveline is a visitor, and her shooter deserves the attention Haytham is paying him.

But he does need Haytham's phone, and he grabs his father's elbow as he pulls it back for another hit. " _Connor_ ," Haytham snarls. "This is—"

"Not helping Aveline," Connor interrupts. "She needs medical attention as soon as possible. Let me use your phone."

Haytham nods, but as soon as soon as Connor has grabbed the phone, he goes right back to hitting. Connor hesitates a second (because this is going to be awful and cause so much trouble but _Aveline is going to die_ ), then dials 911.

It takes the ambulance twelve minutes to arrive. By that time, Connor has managed to calm his father (just a bit) and convince him to move the unconscious and beaten shooter off the main street. It will be a lot more difficult to explain things with him around, and they will be difficult enough to explain already.

The ambulance finally comes, screaming its way down the street in a burst of red and blue light. Connor climbs a nearby building and is out of sight on the roof before anyone in the vehicle is close enough to see him. There will be questions soon, questions he can't answer like _who are you_ and _what happened here_. Shay won't leave Aveline's side of course, but he's so obviously distracted that Connor doubts anyone would expect a straight answer out of him. Connor has no idea what sort of lie would be believable, and now that the ambulance is here and Aveline is on the way to getting help, the full implications of what has just happened are hitting him. Hard. Just for a few minutes, he needs to be alone, where he can think. He has lost friends, before, he has lost visitors—they've all died once already, he should be used to this by now.

But if Aveline dies here, now, she'll be gone. There won't even be visits, she'll just be…

She'll be dead.

He's not sure how much time passes before Haytham tracks him down and sits next to him on the roof. "So?" Connor says. He doesn't look at his father. "Who was he?"

"His name was Juhani Otso Berg," Haytham says. His voice is empty, without emotion. "He was a templar."

Connor is still processing the past tense when Haytham scowls and corrects himself.

"No," he says. "Not a templar. He worked for Abstergo."

"There's a difference?" Connor asks.

"Of course there's a difference!" Haytham snaps, and when Connor turns to look at him, he is shocked to see that his father is _shaking_. "Honestly, Connor, I know you don't think much of my order, but you must see that there is a difference between what Shay and I worked toward for decades and what Abstergo wants. Do you think we would throw people into the animus, ruin their lives and their sanity? Do you think we would kidnap people off the streets, or hold children captive? These men and women in this century that call themselves templars are nothing but charlatans, they drag the order's name through the mud for their own gain. They understand nothing, Connor. _Nothing_."

He goes on for a few moments more, mumbling under his breath in coarser language than Connor has ever heard him use. Well, Connor can understand that—he imagines he would feel much the same if the entire assassin brotherhood in this century had turned out to be full of people like William Miles.

"I'm sorry," Connor says.

Haytham turns to look at him, surprised. "You are, aren't you?"

Connor nods, and his father looks somewhat less angry. "So what did Berg want?"

"Shay," Haytham says. He goes on in short, clipped tones. "Somebody saw him one of the times we went to help Elena. Berg matched that description to animus footage of Shay. Apparently he has something of an obsession. Bastard."

"And he thought shooting Shay’s wife would help?" Connor asks.

"I'm not sure what he was thinking," Haytham says coldly. "He didn't make it that far into the interrogation."

They sit for a while longer, and then Connor says, "It's been more than an hour."

"What?"

"Since you called Desmond," Connor says. "You said you'd be home in an hour. He'll be worried." He hands Haytham's phone back to him, and sits beside him in solidarity as Haytham breaks the news.


	34. Chapter 34

It's not a good idea for all seven of them to be in the hospital waiting room at once, out in the open here when they've _just_ been shown how much danger they're in. But here they are. All of them are just sitting around, powerless to do anything to help Aveline. And it's not just the seven of them—Shaun, Rebecca, Clay, and Elena had all come as soon as Haytham had called with the bad news.

Altair is glad for their presence. Of course Aveline's visitors will be there for her. They have learned, through painful trial and error, through eight lifetimes' worth of fighting and ignoring one another, of complicated families and simple disbelief that the others exist. By now, they know better than to leave one another alone. But the others don't have to be here. They want to.

Well. None of them _wants_ to be here.

Eventually, a doctor comes in. He looks uncertainly around at the motley group gathered in the waiting room, and asks, "I was told Mrs. Smith's husband is here."

"Go," Altair whispers to Shay, pushing him to his feet. Rebecca had managed to pull together a set of false papers for Aveline and Shay to use at the hospital in an admirably short amount of time—she'd explained on the way over that she keeps a half dozen sets of false papers lying around all the time, because 'you never know when you're going to have an emergency, do you?'

Edward had asked why _Smith_ , hovering nervously over Rebecca's shoulder as she added a few last minute details—age, height, weight, race, and so on—and Rebecca had tersely explained that it worked for everyone.

It doesn't work for Shay, or at least it isn't working, not right now. He's too numb and far away to remember that he's supposed to be using an alias, much less what it is. When Shay just stands where he is without moving, Connor gets up as well. “I'm a friend of the family,” he says. “Maybe I should go with him.”

The doctor looks around at the rest of them, then shrugs and nods. The three of them walk away, Connor occasionally nudging Shay in the right direction, and then there is silence. Altair settles back in his stiff backed chair, thinking moodily of Maria. Shay’s reaction to his wife getting shot has reminded him uncomfortably of the day he'd lost his.

Altair would give almost anything to keep Shay from that hurt.

“Daddy?” Elena whispers to Desmond. She's sitting next to him, looking tense and worried. A few moments ago, she'd been sprawled out on her chair, upset but in a different way. This looks more intense, and like something new has just gone wrong.

“Hmm?” Desmond sounds tired and distracted by his own worries. Altair can't blame him. All of them are a little out of sorts, staring off into space and lost in their own little worlds. Altair himself is only vaguely paying attention to their conversation.

“Daddy,” Elena insists, more impatiently now. “Pay attention!”

“Elena…” He rubs tiredly at his face. “I'm always listening to you, but we're all a little worried about Aveline right now—“

“I _know_ _,"_ Elena says. “That's why I gotta know what to tell Rory!”

Oh. Altair winces, and tries to think of any way to handle this. No matter what, Rory is going to be stuck invisible and intangible while his mother fights for her life nearby.

Desmond sits up, tensing slightly. “Is he here now?”

Elena nods and points to the empty chair next to her. “He's sleeping.”

“How old is he?” Desmond asks.

"Little like me,” Elena says, and Altair can completely understand Desmond's deepening frown. Elena looks so fragile and out of place here, among the sick and hurt. Looking at her, it's not hard to imagine a similarly young Rory, and how he would struggle with the news that his mother is dying or dead.

“Well, we don't really know how badly Aveline is hurt yet,” Desmond says, which is only partly true. They don't know the exact details yet, but every single one of them knows that it's bad. “So there's not too much you can tell him. But you have to be there for him, okay? If he wakes up, make sure he knows that."

Elena nods, and crawls under the arm rest dividing her chair from the one Rory is apparently asleep on. She curls up against the back, and although it looks to Altair like she's wrapped her arms around her shoulders to hug them tight, he knows she must be holding Rory. It's not long before her eyes close, and she joins her visitor in sleep.

"He shouldn't be here for this," Ezio says softly.

"It shouldn't be happening at all," Altair says. "But it is."

"We can't tell him she's going to die," Edward says anxiously. "That would mess things up, wouldn't it? He might tell Aveline or Shay, and then they'd know about all this even though they obviously didn't. And—you can't tell a kid his mother is dead when he's two! Especially when Aveline didn't die until he was grown up. So—"

"She's not going to die," Desmond interrupts. His voice is higher and more worried than it had been when Elena had been awake to hear him. "She can't!"

"I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can," Haytham says. "But her injury was… severe."

"Severe," Desmond echoes. He sounds miserable. "That means you don't think she'll make it?"

"I think…" Haytham hesitates. "I think it would be easiest for everyone if Rory just sleeps through this visit. He shouldn't be here to see this."

They go quiet again, at least until Shay and Connor make it back. Altair studies their faces for any hint of what to expect, but Shay still looks numb and Connor is as unreadable as ever.

"So?" Desmond asks. "What did he say?"

"Aveline's still in surgery," Connor says. "But they got the bleeding under control, and the bullet just barely missed hitting anything she really needs. They are optimistic—"

"They cut her open," Shay mumbles. Altair hasn't heard him say anything at all since they'd all met up at the hospital, and these words are barely audible. "They sliced her open like a butcher with a piece of meat."

"Shay," Desmond says. "They need to do that. It's how they help her."

"How does slicing her open help?" Shay demands, loudly and suddenly enough to startle Elena awake. She rolls over her chair and then gasps, reaching into thin air in front of her.

"Rory!" she wails. "No, wait! Come back!"

"Elena—" Desmond leans over to help her, but she suddenly jumps to her feet and pushes him away. He looks monumentally hurt by this, at least until Elena runs over to Shay and hugs him tightly.

"Papa," she whimpers. "Why did they cut maman open?"

"Oh," Desmond whispers. He still looks unhappy at the sight of his daughter calling someone else papa, but it's obviously not Elena in her body anymore.

"Rory?" Shay asks, and Elena—or Rory—nods furiously.

"Is maman hurt?" he asks. "Can I see her?"

Shay looks frozen for a moment, but then he bends down and hugs his son. Hard. Rory clings to him, sniffling and making muffled keening noises into Shay's shoulder. "I promise," Shay says quietly. "That when you go home, your mother will be there waiting for you. She'll be perfectly alright."

Which is one way of looking at it, Altair reflects. Whatever happens to Aveline here and now, they know she's still alive and well in her own time. So as long as Rory is too young to have figured out his mother's (admittedly complicated) timeline, this explanation should be good enough.

"Promise?" Rory asks doubtfully. "Nobody cut her open?"

"That's right," Shay says. "You don't have to worry."

"Good," Rory says. "I don't like worrying." He smiles a little. "Except about Jeanne, because she's my baby sister and I like taking care of her."

"Don't grow out of that," Shay whispers, and Rory swears solemnly that he won't. Altair makes a skeptical noise, remembering all the times he'd seen the two siblings at one another's throats.

"So if maman's not hurt, can I see her?" Rory asks.

"When you get home you can," Shay says. "She's a little busy right now."

"Okay," Rory agrees reluctantly. "But give her a big hug from me, okay?"

"I will," Shay says. "And you hug her from me, deal?"

"Deal," Rory giggles, cheering up. "Papa—" he looks sideways at nothing. "I'm gonna give Elena her body back."

"You don't have to," Shay says, and the wistful loneliness in his voice makes Altair frown.

"Papa," Rory protests, exasperated. "Elena's a girl, she's gross! I don't want to be an icky girl!" Elena obviously protests at this, because he says, "You are too!" and then sticks out his tongue.

Then he lets Elena have her body back midsentence, so that suddenly she's waving her arms in annoyance, and shouting, " _You're_ icky, boys are super extra mega big icky!"

Altair has absolutely no idea what Rory says back to her, but Elena scowls and crosses her arms and says (in a tone that suggests there is no possible argument Rory can make against what she's about to say), "But you ate a _worm_. That's the biggest icky thing I ever saw, ever—oh!" She frowns, then looks up at Shay. "He went home. You can stop hugging me now."

Shay holds her tighter for just a second before letting her go running back to Desmond. He scoops her up into a second hug that Elena seems to enjoy much more—Shay drops into the empty seat next to Altair, watching father and daughter with a kind of gloomy jealousy.

"I miss my children," Shay tells Altair softly.

"So do I," Altair admits.

"I don't want to have to tell them when Aveline dies," Shay says.

"You don't know for sure that she'll die," Altair says. "Connor says the doctors are hopeful."

"I don't believe it. Altair, I've seen enough people shot to know when an injury is fatal. Hers is."

"Medicine is more advanced in this century," Altair says. "Maybe advanced enough to save her."

"Or maybe not." Shay sighs, and seems to deflate. "I still can't believe they shot her," he says. "Haytham says it was a templar."

"No," Haytham says, shifting a few seats over to be closer to the pair of them. "I said he works for Abstergo."

Shay makes a confused face.

"Isn't that the same thing?" Altair asks.

"Not at all," Haytham says tersely. "These Abstergo goons are nothing but pretenders masquerading as part of the order. I do not recognize the cause they fight for, and I cannot condone the methods they use." He makes a sardonic, over dramatic gesture. "Congratulations," he says. "It seems the assassins have finally won—the templar order has been eradicated."

"I—" Altair is utterly at a loss. "Well, we do have William Miles as mentor," he says. "So this isn't exactly our finest hour. And—"

"We're still here," Shay says abruptly.

"What?" Haytham asks.

"I said, we're still here," Shay repeats. "You and I. We're templars."

"For all the good that does us," Haytham says.

Shay leans toward Haytham, something like fury and pain shining in his eyes. "We are templars, and I think it's time to rebuild the templar order. And I think we start by destroying Abstergo. Every last one of the charlatans pretending to be a templar, every one of their plans."

"Well—" Haytham looks uncomfortably at Altair, who is feeling a bit uncomfortable himself. He's not entirely sure how he should feel about overhearing a plan to rebuild the templar order. "It's certainly ambitious."

"It's more than that," Shay says. "It's the only possible thing we can do. I know the templars are as important to you as they are to me. We have to do this."

"I suppose," Haytham says after a moment. "I have been trying to think of some new purpose to set my life to, but there has really only ever been the order. We… could do this. We could try."

"Don't be hasty," Altair says. "Shay, you can't go rebuilding the templars just because you want revenge for Aveline."

"Revenge would only be a bonus," Shay says.

"I've been a templar the entire time we've known one another," Haytham says. "Shay has been one for nearly as long. I thought you'd eventually come to accept that about us."

Well—he has. Sort of. And of course Altair would prefer to see a templar order led by this pair, rather than the monstrosity that is Abstergo. But he's concerned, still. It goes entirely against his instincts to allow any kind of templar plot to continue.

Then he realizes it doesn't much matter what he thinks. These two will do whatever they want, despite his opinion, and they will do it well. Besides. He trusts them to be better than Abstergo. They have ties to assassins, and they respect the lives of the innocent more than most templars Altair has encountered. There are poorer ways for the templar order to be reborn. Altair looks at them for another moment, then simply nods and gets up, stepping away to let them continue their plans.

"What are they doing?" Edward whispers when Altair walks past him.

"Plotting," Altair explains.

"Oh! Good." Edward grins at Altair, then at Haytham and Shay. "That should cheer them up."

Altair shakes his head, exasperated, but his fond smile dies quickly away. "Oh no," he groans.

"What?" Edward asks. "What now?"

"William Miles is here."


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL HAVE ANOTHER CHAPTER AHEAD OF SCHEDULE

Aveline wakes up slowly, and the first thing she sees is Shay. He's fast asleep in the chair next to Aveline's bed, the only familiar thing in a plain white room she doesn't recognize. Her thoughts feel sluggish, and when she reaches for Shay it's a Herculean effort to lift her arm. There are wires and tubes attached to her everywhere, and she doesn't feel well.

"Shay," Aveline croaks. "Shay, I need you…"

She manages to reach out far enough to brush her fingers against the back of his hand, and Shay's eyes slide open at once. "Aveline—you're awake."

"I know," Aveline says. "What happened? I remember we were close to home, and then… nothing."

"You were shot," Shay says.

"Shot?"

He nods, and Aveline notices that his eyes are red and his face is exhausted. "You nearly died," he goes on quietly, as if speaking any louder will tempt the universe into taking Aveline away. "If we'd been home, you would have. But the doctors here can do amazing things."

"I'm alive."

"And awake." Shay takes her hand in his, and kisses it gently. "They finished operating on you a week ago, but you wouldn't wake up."

"I never was a morning person."

Shay beams at her, and his smile makes the coldness of the room a little easier to bear.

"Who shot me?" Aveline asks.

"A man that worked for Abstergo," Shay says. "His name was Berg. He's dead now."

"You killed him?" Aveline asks.

"Haytham did."

"Ah…" She leans back against her pillow, tired already from the minimal amount of effort she's made since waking up. "I'll have to thank him."

"You might want to save that for a little while," Shay says nervously. "I have some more news, and you might not like this as much."

She tries to smile at him. "I just woke up from almost being shot to death, and you want to give me bad news?"

"It's important," he says. "Haytham and I are going to restart the templars. Properly, not like Abstergo does things."

"And?"

"And…" He looks at her blankly. "And that's it. I thought you would be upset."

He's looking at her anxiously, and Aveline feels a sudden rushing surge of affection for him. "Shay," she says. "Have I ever given you the impression that I would love you less because you're a templar?"

"Well no, but—"

"I've never wanted anything for you but happiness," Aveline says. "And I know you will never be happy without your order."

Shay beams at her, but Aveline struggles to smile back. Shay notices straight away, of course he does, and his own smile fades a fraction. "What's the matter, love?" he asks gently.

"Nothing," Aveline says. "Or I suppose… I'm just jealous of you and your templars."

"Well, you know that you're always welcome to join us," Shay says, and Aveline almost laughs at him.

"Tease," she says. "But no—I'm happy with the assassins, I just wish…" she sighs. "I don't think the assassins in this time have fallen quite as far as the templars, but they're not the same as the ones back home. If William Miles is cut from the same cloth as most assassins here, it makes me… well, I'm worried. I want to fight, but not for a man like that."

"I don't think you'll be doing any fighting for a while," Shay says. "You _were_ just shot."

"But after," Aveline says. "I don't want to be without the assassins any more than you want to be without the templars."

"Well…" He hesitates, then drops his voice. "Listen, I'm not supposed to be the one to tell you this, so I won't."

"What?"

"But the others have some news for you," Shay says. He stands, leaning over to kiss her on the way up. "I'm going to go get them. And probably your doctor. He'll want to run tests—they really like their tests in this century."

"Shay!" Aveline calls after him. "What—"

"I'm really glad you're alright," he says. "I was so worried… oh! And if anyone asks, our name is Smith as long as we're here."

"It is?"

But Shay is already gone, dashing out of the room to deliver his news. Aveline watches him go, feeling absurdly confused. And, now that Shay is gone, she's starting to feel the pain of her injuries, a dull, deep throbbing in her ribs. A doctor comes in soon enough, and Aveline tells him (in the most pitifully weak voice she can manage) that she simply doesn't remember a thing about her accident, and there's really nothing she can tell him that will help. He sighs at this, but seems far more concerned with her health and how she's feeling. Aveline answers _these_ questions honestly, and the doctor quite competently goes about addressing the worst of the aches.

"Am I allowed to have visitors?" Aveline asks.

"It's really not wise,” the doctor says. “Too much excitement isn't good for you in your condition.”

Aveline wants to tell him that a group of people in a hospital room isn't exactly the most exciting thing to ever happen in the world, and also that she hadn't lived to be over a hundred by only doing things that are _wise_. But she does neither of these things, settling for a look that makes the doctor blush like a schoolboy instead. She's used the same expression countless times to get close to a target or worm information out of an unsuspecting contact. It's good to know some things never change, even hundreds of years later, even with Aveline in a hospital bed and feeling like death warmed over.

“Not for long,” the doctor says. “And call for a nurse if you don't feel well.”

She nods, and the doctor finishes his examination relatively quickly. He's just turning to leave when Aveline’s visitors arrive, all seven of them, plus everyone else she cares for in this century. Aveline smiles at them, bright and bold, so enthusiastically she thinks her face might break. And she thinks that maybe she'd been hasty in dismissing the doctor's suggestion that this is going to end up being too exciting for her. Aveline isn't entirely sure she's ever been as excited as she is now, at the sight of her visitors all coming through the door together.

"They really can't stay long," the doctor reminds her on his way out the door, but Aveline barely hears him over everyone talking at once.

It's a really good sound.

Aveline settles back and does her best to follow the tornado of mixing conversations. Clay, Rebecca, and Shaun stay only long enough to tell Aveline they're glad she's well, and then they leave her alone with her visitors. And Elena, who steadfastly refuses to leave Desmond's side, even when Shaun tries to bribe her with ice cream. Shay sits back down in the chair he'd been in when Aveline first woke up, and his presence there is a rock solid reassurance that everything will be alright.

"Oh!" Desmond says after a few minutes. "I completely forgot to tell you the good news."

"I'm not dying?" Aveline jokes.

"No." He waves his hand dismissively. "We always knew you weren't going to die. You're stronger than that."

"But daddy," Elena protests. "I heard you tell grandpa you didn't know if she was gonna wake up—"

"Shh," Haytham says softly, putting his hand on her tiny shoulder. "Not now, Elena."

"So what was your good news?" Aveline asks Desmond, perhaps more brightly than she should have to cover the unease she feels at Elena's words.

"William apologized," Desmond says, practically glowing. "To all of us, even Haytham and Shay."

"Wow," Aveline says. "I think I need to get that doctor back in here, I can't be hearing things correctly."

"Really!" Desmond insists. "It was kind of a terrible apology, but for something that doesn't get a lot of practice, I mean… it was decent."

"He said I was an example of everything that's gone wrong with the human race, and that the next time he saw me he was going to attempt to shoot me," Haytham says calmly. "But I suppose he did manage to work in the words _I'm sorry_ somehow, so technically it counts."

"So… Desmond's good news is that his father wants to kill Haytham?" Aveline asks.

"He's _not_ my father," Desmond says cheerfully. "And no, that's—"

"Well, it's not exactly news," Edward interrupts. "We already knew he was a huge…" He trails off, looking down at Elena. She looks back at him. "…hugely mean person," he finishes.

"The _good_ news is that he's gone," Desmond says. "And he's not coming back."

"What?"

"After you got hurt, he came by the hospital," Desmond explains. "He basically said he was tired of dealing with us—"

"I don't understand why," Edward says, slipping his shoes off. He sits down on the bed next to Aveline, and props his smelly stockinged feet on what looks like an expensive piece of machinery. "It's not like we're high maintenance."

The rest of them stare at him in uncertain silence for a moment. Aveline wants to laugh, but she's not entirely sure Edward is joking.

"Right," Desmond says after a second. "Anyway, he said he was tired of dealing with us, and that we should just go off and do our own thing."

"What?"

Desmond grins. "So basically, he doesn’t want to give up having a bunch of really famous ancient assassins on his side, but he doesn't want to waste his time actually talking to us."

"So he wants us to take out targets for him, but he doesn't want to clean up after us."

"Yes," Desmond agrees. "So we're going to be operating separately from the rest of the brotherhood. We'll have access to their resources and safe places if we need them, and we'll still be tapped into their computer network so we'll have their information. But we decide what targets we want to take out, we decide what's worth fighting for and what isn't."

"That should be a given," Aveline says. "Everyone should be able to do that."

"Yea," Desmond says. "But where William Miles is concerned, that's a major victory." He leans back against the wall, arms folded across his chest in an almost cocky posture that says _I've won, I finally won against my father._ "So that's the good news. We're going to be able to be assassins. _Real_ assassins, outside of my father's control, and not stuck inside the house anymore either."

Aveline has to admit that it sounds… it sounds _wonderful_ , the idea of being free again, not trapped in one tiny safe house or desperately on the run from one side of the country to another. Together, she is sure, they will be able to do whatever they put their minds to. Absolutely anything they want.

"So we'll be real assassins again," Aveline says. "Shay and Haytham will be real templars again—everything's going to be alright."

"Almost everything," Edward grumbles. "I still don't have a ship. I wouldn't mind being a real pirate again."

Haytham surprises Aveline by laughing at that. She's rarely heard him happy like this, and it warms her to hear it now. She looks around at the rest of them, and realizes it's not just Haytham. Every single one of the people around her looks happier than Aveline is used to seeing them, and it's—it's _good_. She feels happier than normal herself, and even the pain in her ribs is a little less now.

"Father," Haytham says, when he has calmed again. "I don't doubt that if you put your mind to it, you will not only find a way to bring back sailing ships, you will bring piracy back to the twenty first century."

Edward looks ridiculously pleased about this, and Connor hisses "Why would you encourage him?" at Haytham.

"Because he's my father," Haytham says (Edward's smile grows still wider). "And because—well, he could do it."

"There are—I don't know." Desmond looks like he's struggling to keep from laughing too. "Battleships and planes and things now. Where would you even _get_ a ship?"

"I'll figure it out," Edward insists.

"Yea!" Elena cheers. "Yea, I wanna be a pirate too!"

"You're a terrible influence on children," Altair tells Edward.

"I remember once being thrown out a window as a child," Ezio says (he sounds weirdly happy with this memory). "Because I repeated some things Edward told me to say."

"Dunno." Edward says, reaching out and sort of patting Haytham fondly. Since he's still sprawled awkwardly across the bed and the medical equipment, he ends up more poking Haytham in the side than anything. "This one turned out alright."

The conversation rambles onward, but Aveline is starting to tire. Her eyes slip closed, and even with all the noise around her, she drifts off to sleep. It's warm here, warm and comfortable, even considering the awkward stiffness of the hospital bed, and the unnatural cleanness of the walls and furniture. Aveline is just happy to have her family all around her, and to know that they will still be there when she wakes up.

The last thing she sees before falling asleep is Shay's smile. The last thing she feels is his hand holding hers tight.


	36. Chapter 36

"Elena."

She smiles but doesn't open her eyes. The bed is too comfy and warm, and Elena is all squished up under the blankets, her head buried in her pillow and Kitty safe and sound in her arms. Besides, she likes waking up like this, with daddy calling her name. It makes Elena feel special, and she doesn't want it to be over too fast.

"Elena…"

Daddy has this special way of saying her name, lingering over every sound, drawing it out like it's something he really likes saying. Elena smiles bigger, and rubs one eye open. It's still dark outside, she can't see any light coming in through the window. In the dark, daddy just looks like a lump across from her on the bed. But a nice lump, because daddy is always nice. _"I love you always and forever, cross my heart,"_ he tells Elena, every night before she goes to bed. He used to say _"Cross my heart and hope to die,"_ but Elena made him stop after Clay almost broke.

Elena yawns and lets go of Kitty with one hand so she can pat daddy on the arm. "Go back to sleep, daddy," she tells him. "You woke up too early." She closes her eyes and snuggles closer to daddy, curling up against his chest. That's what daddy tells her when she gets out of bed too early—he takes her hand and brings her back to bed, teasing gently and calling her an early bird. It doesn't bother Elena when daddy teases her, because she can still hear the way he loves her in every word. And anyway, she likes being called a bird. She likes pretending she can fly, even if she doesn't like climbing anymore. It's fun, and it feels… Elena doesn't have words for the way it makes something in her light up, the way climbing makes her feel emptied out and filled up all at the same time. But falling hurts. She doesn't want to fall down again.

"Elena," daddy laughs. "You have to get out of bed!"

She shakes her head against his shoulder, and makes a squeaky noise of complaint when he puts his hand under her shoulder and gently props her up. Still, daddy sounds excited so Elena doesn't really fight him when he makes her sit up. "Why…?" she complains.

Daddy kisses her on the ear (because he knows it tickles and it will make her laugh) and then whispers, "It's Christmas."

"Christmas?"

"Didn't any of your visitors ever tell you about Christmas?"

Elena shakes her head, and she can hear daddy smile when he starts talking again. "Well then I'm lucky," he says. "I get to tell you about the best day of the whole year."

"Halloween," Elena says. They'd done Halloween a couple weeks ago, even though apparently it was the wrong day for it. Edward and Ezio had just found out about it, and they'd gotten really excited—Ezio had cut up an old sheet like a ghost for Elena to wear, and then she'd walked around the house getting candy from everyone. Grandpa had given her extra, and then promised not to tell daddy when Elena ate all of it right then and there. It was lots of fun.

"Christmas is better than Halloween," daddy promises.

"Is there more candy?"

“Why don’t you come and see?”

Elena thinks about this for a minute, then nods and wriggles off the bed, pulling most of the blankets with her when she plops onto the floor. She squirms out of them, runs to the door, then runs back to get Kitty and grab daddy’s hand. “Aren’t you coming?”

Of course he is. Daddy’s always there when she needs him, or even just when she _wants_ him. Sometimes Elena still can’t believe he’s real, and she has to pinch herself to prove that this isn’t a dream, and daddy isn’t too good to be true. But pinching hurts and daddy never ever goes away, so Elena has started doing that less and less. She’s very lucky he came to get her. Maybe the luckiest person in the whole world, because daddy is the best daddy in the whole world, and he came to get _her_.

“Close your eyes,” daddy says when they get to the door.

“Why?”

“Trust me,” daddy says, and Elena does so she closes her eyes right away. She hears daddy open the door, then feels his hand move to her back, guiding her gently out of the door and down the hall. In their last house, the one they lived in before Aveline got hurt and they had to move, Elena would have peeked to make sure they aren’t about to fall down the stairs. But Elena sleeps on the bottom floor in this house, so she keeps her eyes squeezed tight shut and follows daddy. After all, she can’t fall _up_ the stairs. That would be silly.

Daddy stops her after a little bit, and tells her to open her eyes. Elena hesitates just a second, then opens her eyes and—

“Wow, daddy!”

There’s a _tree_ in the middle of the living room, a big green tree with a star on top. And it's covered in lights, soft white light on a string. It hugs the tree and then stretches away, up the walls and around the whole room. There are more lights hanging from the ceiling, draping low so that Elena feels like she's drifting in a cloud of light. She feels like a fairy, something magic and special.

“This is Christmas?” she asks, still looking at the tree. Now that she's looking closer, she can see there are little things that look like toys hanging from the branches, sparkling snowflakes and plastic candy canes and more.

“It's _part_ of Christmas,” daddy says.

“There's more?”

“Yep.”

She can't imagine what else there could be on top of all this-- she's still struggling with the tree a little. “Where did it all come from?”

Daddy beams at her, and tells her all about Santa Claus, the nice man that lives at the North Pole with the penguins and brings presents to good boys and girls. “What does he do if you’re bad?” she asks.

“You get coal instead of presents.”

“Ew!” She makes a face. “Why?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells her. “You weren’t bad.”

“How do you know?” Elena asks anxiously. She’s looking at the little pile of brightly wrapped boxes under the tree. “What if there’s just coal inside?”

“You’re not bad,” daddy says firmly. “Look, Santa even put up all these decorations last night.”

Elena looks around the room again, and feels a little less worried. Maybe she was _really_ good, if Santa did all this. “It was really Santa?” she asks. “It must have taken him _all night_.”

“He’s magic,” daddy says, and Elena nods really fast.

“Watch out,” daddy says, and Elena realizes she’s accidentally drifted too close to what daddy calls ‘the landing zone’—there’s a place at the top of the stairs where you can jump over the railing and land in the living room without using the stairs at all. Most of the grown-ups like to do that (but not Shaun, he says everyone else is just showing off). They’re _supposed_ to make sure there’s no one downstairs before they jump, but Edward sometimes forgets.

Sure enough, a second or so later, Edward lands right where Elena had been standing, almost knocking over the Christmas tree.

“Hey!” Elena shouts at him. “Be careful, Santa worked really hard on that!”

“Really?” Edward asks. He looks around at the room, then at daddy. “And did _Santa_ get any sleep at all last night?”

Daddy is in the middle of a really big yawn, so he doesn’t say anything, just kind of shrugs. Edward grins at him.

“Of course not,” Elena says. “Santa had to go all over the whole world, he didn’t have time to sleep.”

“But Santa isn’t—“

“Don’t you dare spoil this,” daddy interrupts, and Edward rolls his eyes.

Elena crosses her arms and frowns at him. She doesn’t really know what Edward was going to spoil, but she knows Edward does that a lot and then everyone else gets mad at him. “You’re probably gonna get coal,” she tells him.

“Nah,” Edward says. “Santa’s for kids.”

“But grandpa says you’re never gonna grow up,” Elena points out. Edward only laughs at her.

With Edward awake, it doesn’t take too long for everyone else to start waking up and heading downstairs. And there are presents for everyone, even Edward—he didn’t get coal, but neither did Elena so she decides that’s okay. Everything is kind of a blur, and she doesn’t really pay attention to what she’s getting—she’s just surprised and excited to get anything at all. Then she starts crinkling up the wrapping paper and throwing it at people, which is really fun and also makes a big mess.

“Elena,” Aveline calls after a while. By now, Elena is throwing paper at Ezio, and when Aveline distracts her Ezio tosses some back at her—it hits her in the head and she giggles.

“What?” she asks, scrambling to her feet and running over.

“I think you missed a present,” Aveline says, pointing to something that had been hidden behind the tree. It’s not wrapped, so Elena gives Aveline a doubtful look. “Are you sure it’s a present?” she asks.

“It has your name on it,” Aveline says. “See?” She bends down and shows Elena the little tag that’s been tied onto a handle. Elena can’t read, but Aveline can so that’s okay.

“Is it from Santa?”

“It’s from your dad,” Aveline says.

“What?” she turns around to look at daddy. “You got me a present too?”

“Of course,” daddy says, and he makes a face like he’s trying really hard not to smile. “Go ahead and see what it is.”

“I don’t know who’s more excited,” Elena hears Connor tell Shay as she drops down to see what the present is. “Elena or Desmond.”

“Probably Desmond,” Shay says.

Elena ignores them and keeps trying to figure out what her present is. It’s a sort of cloth box with a net on the front, and Elena picks it up carefully to see inside. It’s heavier than she’d expected, but once it’s closer to her face, she sees—

“Oh!” Elena looks up at Aveline, because she’s closest, and then at daddy. “Really, daddy?”

“Really,” he says, and Elena carefully unzips the net part and reaches inside.

“What is it?” Altair asks, and Elena very carefully lifts up the tiny kitten that had been inside.

“I got a kitty!” she says, and the kitten meows at her.

“Good,” grandpa says. “Cats are good pets.”

“What are you going to name it?” Clay asks, and Elena doesn’t have to think about that too much.

“Lion,” she says.

“No really,” Edward says. “Tell the truth.” He laughs. No one else does.

“…what?” Elena asks.

“Lion? Lyin’? No…?” He sighs like they’ve all disappointed him and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shaun whispers loudly to Elena. She’s not sure why he’s whispering, since probably everyone else can hear him. “He’s not as funny as he thinks he is.”

“Hey!”

“Why Lion?” daddy asks, and Elena grins.

“You gave me a stuffed lion, and her name is Kitty,” she says. “And then you gave me a real kitty, so I have to name him Lion!” She thinks it’s really smart, and Lion doesn’t seem to mind his new name.

“It’s a girl cat,” Edward points out.

“Girls can be lions!”

“They can be _lionesses_ ,” Edward says, but Lioness is a stupid name so Elena shakes her head firmly and says no.

It sort of bothers her for the rest of the day though, and after dinner (it’s a really good dinner, with lots of Elena’s favorite foods), she asks daddy about it. “Girls can be lions, can’t they?” she asks anxiously.

“Of course they can,” daddy says. “I think you’re a little like a lion.”

“Me? No, daddy, I’m a person.”

“I know,” he assures her. “But when I had… Kitty, before I gave him to you, he always helped me to be brave. Now I don’t need him anymore, because you remind me to do the same thing.”

“I’m not brave at all,” Elena says sadly. “I can’t even climb up stuff because I’m scared.”

“Well…” Elena knows daddy really likes climbing, and she _knows_ he wants her to be able to climb too. But it’s really high and really scary and _what if she falls?_

“It’s not scary,” daddy promises. “If you learn how to do it right, you could even jump into the landing zone.”

“But I’m little,” Elena says.

“Well you’d have to learn,” daddy says again. “It might actually help you—if you knew how to do it safely, you wouldn’t have to be scared.”

“But…” Elena sighs sadly.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” daddy says. “Just think about it.”

“I _do_ want to,” Elena says. “I think… climbing is fun but I don’t like falling. It’s scary.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Elena makes a little distressed noise, and daddy hugs her. “Sorry,” she says. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry,” daddy tells her. “I want you to be happy, more than anything. I just don’t like seeing you scared.” Elena doesn’t like feeling scared, and she says so. Daddy looks at her, very serious, and says, “Then do you want me to teach you?”

“Maybe…” Maybe not. She just doesn’t know. “We could just do a little try.”

They have a little obstacle course set up in the basement. Nobody else likes it, because it’s too small and too short, but there’s nowhere else they can go to run around and jump on things. Besides, being small and short makes it a good place for Elena to start learning to climb. They go down there, and for a little while it’s not so bad. Daddy shows Elena how to climb and hold onto things, and that helps. But then he helps her climb up on a tall platform, _twice_ as tall as Elena. Maybe it doesn’t seem scary to him (it’s only a little bit taller than he is), but it terrifies Elena. She goes stiff and freezes, and she can’t make herself move at all.

“Elena?” daddy asks. “Elena it’s okay, I promise.”

“No!”

“If you jump,” he says. “I’ll catch you.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “No…”

And then suddenly she’s outside and everything is warm, and when Elena opens her eyes she’s back on solid ground. There’s no one around, but when she looks up she sees Cello looking at her from the branches of a tree, and he looks little, like her. She’s just about to say something, but all of a sudden he just jumps out of the tree and bounces onto the ground.

“Cello!” Elena gasps, running to him. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says cheerfully. “I have a thick head.”

“You landed on your butt!”

“Well then, I have a thick butt.” He gets up and shakes his butt at her until Elena makes a face, then he giggles and starts awkwardly climbing back into the tree.

“Why are you going back up?” she demands. “You just fell!”

“I don’t care,” Marcello insists. “It’s fun.”

And then Elena is somewhere else again, and this time when she looks around she gasps because she’s upon a little platform on a ship’s sail. A grownup Jacob is a few feet away, and she is already in mid leap, she doesn’t notice Elena—but Elena just barely has a chance to see the look of absolute peace on Jacob’s face as she dives. In another second, she’s somewhere else _again_ —

And again, and again, and again. Maybe it’s her fear or maybe it’s something else, but for some reason Elena flashes past every single visitor as they climb, jump, fall—and every one of them looks happy. They’re not scared, like she is, not even when she sees them fall or hurt. For a brief moment, Elena feels like she is surrounded by her visitors, her _very special friends_ all falling at once. And she thinks that just maybe… she could do that too.

“It’s called a leap of faith,” Darim says, and Elena realizes she’s landed in Masyaf. Darim is a little bit bigger than her, but not grown up yet. He’s craning his neck all the way up to see something, and Elena follows his gaze to see a little group of assassins leap from the top of the tower.

“They’ll die!” she says, and clutches fearfully at his hand.

Darim shakes his head. “They know there’s something waiting for them on the ground,” he says. “Something that will catch them so they’ll be safe.”

“But what if they mess up?”

“That’s why it’s so… so beautiful,” Darim says. “Because they have faith that everything will turn out alright. They just let go of being scared… and jump.”

“And they’re okay?”

“Almost always,” Darim assures her. “As long as they do it right. And dad teaches all the novices how to take a leap of faith, he’s the best at it.” His voice is full of pride. “I’m going to learn someday too.”

“You’re not scared?”

“Nope.”

“My daddy’s teaching me to climb little things,” Elena tells him. “But I’m scared.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Darim says. He sounds absolutely calm. That’s what she likes about Darim. He always seems calm, like he knows he can handle any kind of problem. “Your dad’s almost as good as my dad. He won’t let you get hurt.”

The two of them look up again as a second group of assassins jump off the tower, backs arched, arms spread. They fall, and Elena thinks maybe she could do that. No one else is scared. It would be so nice to just be brave. Like a lion. She wants to be brave, and… she sort of wants to know how it would feel to fall like that.

She blinks, and suddenly she’s back at home, and daddy’s saying _trust me_ and she does.

Elena closes her eyes. She imagines all of her visitors as she has just seen them, falling, leaping, tumbling down… she opens her eyes and says, “You’re _sure_ you’ll catch me?”

“I promise.”

Elena sucks in a deep breath, and takes her own leap of faith, off the block and into daddy’s arms. For a moment that seems to last forever, she is falling, just falling, and… and it’s not scary. It sort of feels like climbing does, like something _good_ but also too big for her to explain. And then she lands against daddy, his good arm supporting her, his short arm wrapping around her back to pull her close.

“See?” he whispers, kissing her ear. Elena giggles. “That wasn’t so bad. You were really brave.”

“My friends helped me,” she tells him proudly. Just like they always have. Just like they always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't _belieeeeeeeeve_ it, I can't believe all of Homecoming is finally up. :) Thank you all for reading and commenting, and keep your eyes open in the future for more exciting Visitorverse (trust me, there's plenty more coming).


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